Twist of Fate
by mossley
Summary: For most people, the threads of life form an unchanging tapestry, with the past setting the pattern for the future. Can Grissom overcome his own doubts when given the chance to weave a new life? GSR, A/U. The final chapter has been posted.
1. Chapter 1

**Twist of Fate  
Summary: **For most people, the threads of life form an unchanging tapestry, with the past setting the pattern for the future. Can Grissom overcome his own doubts when given the chance to weave a new life? GSR, A/U**  
A/N:** This is a sequel to "If the Fates Allow", and I strongly suggest reading that story first to understand what's going on. Thanks to Gibby for agreeing to beta this mess. This story is already finished, but it was too long to post as a single chapter.  
**Rating: **What's wrong with PG? Why do people always want smut? I don't do good smut. Let's call this a strong PG-13.  
**Disclaimer: **Do you really think anyone would trust me with these characters given what I put them through? I only play with them when the mood strikes.

* * *

Rustling pages, shifting chairs, the scratch of pens on paper – Gil Grissom noted it all, for it was his nature to be aware of his surroundings. On a normal day, he'd promptly ignore the irritating background noise, but now it grated on his nerves. He concentrated on getting through his lecture, thankful that he knew the material so thoroughly.

The morning's events left him unbalanced, happy and apprehensive at the same time, enough to bother even his impressive abilities of concentration. Throbbing pain from his headache contributed to his discomfort, but it was nothing compared to the long-legged brunette furiously taking notes in the front row.

Or, more specifically, what she caused him to feel.

For most of his life, he acted on logic with his feelings closeted in the dark recesses of his mind. It served him well, as emotional understanding always seemed to elude his considerable intellect. Grissom had the ability to appropriately quote poets or philosophers in almost any situation, but he was unable to apply their wisdom to his own interactions. Life had taught him the dangers of exposing himself on a personal level, and he had learned the lessons painfully.

As a result, he avoided emotional confrontations whenever possible, relying on a dispassionate approach to life, to play it safe in matters of the heart. The tactic worked for him, in that he led a relatively safe existence, even if he was somewhat lonely. But loneliness had been his companion for most of his life, and it was easier to handle than the uncertainty of a relationship or the inevitable pain of rejection.

But now a chance encounter with a student brought a surge of sentiments that were as overwhelming as they were stimulating. While it was true that he had few real friendships, the anticipation of having Sara join that select group thrilled him. It was nothing but a casual lunch, but his whole being insisted on a deeper meaning.

The situation was odd, teasing his rational mind with absolutely irrational ideas. He'd known many beautiful women before; he'd known many intelligent people before, but never had he been so drawn to someone so quickly, so strongly. In the past, such a raw expression of feeling would have sent him retreating, but he doubted that he'd be able to run from Sara Sidle even if he wanted to.

Pausing to advance the next slide, he risked a glance in her direction, not surprised to see her urgently jotting down information. Years spent mastering his self-control spared him the public humiliation of grinning like a besotted idiot, but some long-neglected part of his soul hungered for the upcoming lunch. A sense of hope, of potential, loomed over him in a way he had never before experienced.

If his head would only stop pounding, it would probably be one of the happier days of his life.

When the time came for the morning break, he rested his elbows on the lectern and rubbed his temples, mentally willing the headache to go away. It was nothing compared to his migraines, but lingering images of things that never happened remained. Gossamer strands of pleasure and pain tugged at his psyche, upsetting his mental balance.

The more he thought about them, the less distinct they became, but they were impossible to ignore. They were meaningless and deeply profound, things that never happened but were key to his future. His internal battle to understand, to categorize these snippets of memory left him feeling unraveled and worn out.

"Hey."

Grissom looked up, the corners of his lips lifting slightly as Sara passed him a paper cup of water and held out a bottle of Tylenol.

"You look like you need these," she added when he didn't respond, pouring some of the pills into her outstretched hand.

"Thanks." After swallowing the painkillers and draining the cup, he fixed her with a steady gaze. She seemed concerned. Normally being the center of attention like this flustered him, but he liked that she cared. It was something he never knew he missed.

"Are you sure you don't want to stop by the clinic?" she asked, and her worried tone confused him until he realized that he was still staring.

"No, I'm fine," he answered, giving his head a slight shake and immediately regretting the action. Trying to lighten the mood, he asked brightly, "Do I really look that bad?"

"You just seemed _…_ bothered," Sara answered after a moment's consideration.

His hand came up to rub his beard, and he started when he felt the smooth skin. He'd never worn a beard, yet the elusive memories, less substantial than a fading dream, whispered of a past yet to happen. There were no details, no specifics, just an odd insistency that undefined things existed.

Had existed?

Could exist.

Would exist?

Never one to pass on a learning opportunity, his mind carefully classified the conflicting sensations as the aftermath of a head injury. For someone so grounded in reality, the surreal afterimages and their emotional residue were a singularly unique experience, albeit somewhat frustrating. It was a curious feeling, and one he wouldn't mind exploring in more detail – except for the skull-splitting pain.

"My head does hurt some. I'm sure the pills will help," he finally admitted, knowing there'd be no chance of lunch if he told her what his mind was telling him. Frankly, he found the carnal nature of his thoughts about her a little embarrassing; they were too _…_ detailed _…_ for idle hormonal fantasy, and certainly nothing he'd ever confess to her unless he wanted to come across as a sexual predator.

She watched him for a moment, making him wonder what she was thinking. With absolute clarity, he knew little escaped her attention. The half-truth seemed to satisfy her, though, and he found himself frantically trying to think of small talk. "Do you like the lecture?"

"Yeah. I'm learning a lot."

In spite of his headache, her eager admission caused him to grin. So many people seemed bored by his talks. It was a rare treat to find someone so interested in knowledge.

Someone so perfect for him.

His grin faltered as the weight of that thought settled over him, and he cleared his throat. Luckily she mistook his actions and fetched him another cup of water, giving him a moment to compose himself. For all his desperate self-rationalizations that the upcoming lunch was just to thank Sara for her care after his accident, the truth was he wanted this to be a real date. That thought didn't bother him, and _that_ was what bothered him. In a twist of irony, the very conviction with which he felt this was right made him question whether it was wrong.

He wanted to date a student.

Just the idea was preposterous. He was a visiting lecturer, only in town for a few days. He was old enough to be her father – at least theoretically – and a relationship was completely inappropriate on every ethical level. Grissom knew he wasn't given to flights of fancy or folly, but not only had he thought of something so absurd, he had acted on it.

And he was glad.

Logically, he knew it was silly. She was much younger than he was, and definitely very attractive. If she didn't have a boyfriend – his mind refused to consider potential lovers – then it was a temporary situation. Besides, he lived hundreds of miles away. Even if she was interested in him, it wasn't like they'd be able to go out every Friday night.

But he wanted to.

He'd given up the dream of finding someone to settle down with ages ago. Happy homes and family life were for other people, a fate not destined for him. Pain of rejection, of never understanding how things went wrong, had convinced him to remain alone when he was younger than Sara.

Now long-forgotten hopes and desires emerged from the dark crevasses of his soul, strong despite their years of isolation. A chance of a future that wasn't empty, of someone to share his life with. It appealed to him at a visceral level, too powerful to ignore.

His rational mind rebelled at the idea. There were the obvious reasons he'd already admitted to himself, but there was a deeper seed of misgiving. He _knew_ he cared for her, that the feeling was mutual. There was no doubt that they had a future together, and it was a happy one.

The problem was there was _no way_ he could know this.

As a scientist, he knew there were things he'd never be able to understand or explain. His own case history included victims who survived impossible circumstances, or series of improbable coincidences that bordered on the miraculous. Grissom cherished the idea that the universe held more secrets than he could possibly imagine, and he prided his ability to keep an open mind on matters of faith and belief.

But there was no room for the notion that he was suddenly psychic.

The odd thoughts, the ghost memories, had to be the result of hitting his head. For all the intellectual interest he had in the weird ideas racing in his mind, he was starting to worry that they'd cause him to do something stupid. And he really did want to become friends with Sara, not to convince her that he was a raving maniac.

The lecture hall started to fill as attendees filtered in from their various breaks, and Grissom thanked her again as she went back to her seat. Returning his focus to the audience, he easily picked up the thread of his lecture, feeling the familiar security of work.

His headache had faded to a determined annoyance by the time lunch rolled around, and he found himself anxious as they crossed campus. Sara, in turn, kept giving him a nervous grin, eventually directing him into one of the buildings that housed a small café.

"So, what do they serve here?" he asked, his hand resting lightly on her back as he escorted her towards the line. It took all his control to ignore the thoughts of what her skin felt like.

"Sandwiches mainly. Nothing fancy."

"I see, you don't think my head is that valuable," he teased.

She smirked as she crossed her arms over her midsection. "It's close enough to the lecture hall that we can actually chew the food and make it back in time. And I'm a college student. This place is a feast compared to ramen noodles."

For the first time, he paid attention to her clothes. They were very clean and neat, possibly out of fashion, but with the faded grayness that only comes with age and repeated washing. A discreetly placed piece of duct tape kept a strap attached to her backpack. Even if she had a stipend, money was most likely tight, but her eagerness for this place suggested someone who hadn't eaten a home-cooked meal in a long time.

"Don't you have any family in the area?" he asked.

"You could say that," she answered after a beat. Her voice was normal, but the tension in her posture was just noticeable thanks to the sudden sense of anxiety he felt. "I'd like a cheeseburger if that's okay with you."

"No!"

Sara wasn't the only one to turn to him, and Grissom felt the rising pain of humiliation. Unable to explain why the idea of giving her hamburger terrified him – because he didn't understand it – his mind crazily sought an explanation. It had none, at least none that were logical. The topic of her family had ignited a warning flare in his mind, but there had been a moment of pure panic over her leaving that came out of nowhere.

"I think my head is worth more than ground cow," he offered weakly, turning to the menu board. "Wouldn't you rather have a _…_ something else?"

"It's about as fancy as it gets here," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. "Besides, I like burgers."

Shrugging, he pursed his lips as he regarded her. Hints of remembrance, not quite déjà vu, prodded his conscious. "You're not a vegetarian?"

"No," she drew out slowly, and he realized his outburst had embarrassed her as well. The familiarity of the thought troubled him.

"Are you sure?" he asked with a forced levity, hoping to cover his gaffe.

"I think I'm a lot surer of things than you are," Sara replied evenly, frowning as she stared at him. "Just how hard did you hit your head?"

"Not that bad," he said, ordering two burgers, fries and drinks as they moved to the front of the line. "You're not a vegetarian? I could have sworn you were."

"You wouldn't exactly know, would you?"

Grissom sensed her uneasiness and found that he didn't blame her. His behavior was odd. He wasn't making a great first impression. Second impression, he corrected himself; his first impression was a klutz who walked into a ladder, knocking himself out in the process.

In a lot of ways, it was turning out to be a bad day for him.

He forced a small smile and rolled his shoulders, trying to sound joking. "Except that I'm sure that we've met before. And my memory is excellent. I'm sure I'd remember if it wasn't."

Placing a handful of napkins on the plastic tray, she gave him a lopsided grin that caused his blood to flow in unexpected directions. "I don't know whether to tell you to see a doctor or to get a better pickup line."

"I wasn't using a line on you," he said, frowning in confusion when she dropped her head. Realization hit almost immediately. "I mean, I wouldn't use a line on you. I don't use lines," he said, letting out a frustrated sigh when the cashier rolled his eyes, muttering, "Lame, dude."

Sara glared at the cashier until he fetched their drinks, and Grissom felt some gratitude that she didn't share the man's opinion. Thoughts of a lasting friendship seemed like a fleeting goal, let alone the hopes he wasn't admitting to himself. When she turned to him, he made himself acknowledge, "I'm not very good at this."

"This?" she asked cautiously, but there was a gleam of amusement in her eyes. It wound through his awareness, offering a lifeline to his desires.

"Uh, yeah," he said, suddenly on uneasy ground. It was just a lunch after all. A disgusted snort from the cashier prompted him to take the tray of food and his change, following Sara as she led them to a small table near a window.

"Good ground cow," she said after a while, flashing him a brief grin before picking up her soda.

"It is." He methodically chewed a small stack of fries, feeling horrified that he'd acted on one of the impossible non-memories. But Sara was still talking with him, even if there was still a trace of wariness in her manner. "Despite evidence to the contrary, I, uh, I'm really not crazy. Or a stalker."

She regarded him carefully, slowly nodding her head. "I'm glad to hear that. Because a stalker, crazy or otherwise, would never, ever say something like that."

He peered over the top of his glasses, but his eyes twinkled. "Very true. If a stranger insists he knows you and tells you he isn't a crazy stalker, you have absolutely no reason to worry."

"I don't think I'll find that fact in any forensic journals."

"Probably not. And with good reason, I'm sure."

She gave him an amused look and returned to her burger. After finishing it, she leaned back in her chair and twirled the straw in her cup. "So, who do I remind you of?"

"You," he deadpanned, drawing some comfort that she found the situation humorous. His outburst had mortified him, but he would rather she remembered him as the butt of a joke than as an ass. "If I knew that, then I wouldn't keep thinking it was you I knew."

"Very logical. Not sure that makes sense, but it sounds logical."

"I think logic took the day off."

That statement caused her to set her drink down slowly, her head tilting slightly. "In what way?"

"Well, my mind insists on telling me that I know someone I've only just met," he said, unwilling or unable to expand on his explanation.

"Except you're wrong about me being a vegetarian," she said with a gentle tease. "Want to go for best two out of three?"

"What do I win if I get the next two right?" he asked, surprised by the how easy it was to flirt with her, especially given the rocky start to the conversation. The part of his mind still firmly grounded in reality raged at him, but Grissom knew he'd be able to stop himself from acting inappropriately.

Well, from acting _too_ inappropriately.

"You'll have to win to find out," she said, and her answering smile caused the rebelling angel on his shoulder to sit down and shut up.

Grissom steepled his hands together and stared hard for several seconds, his face drawn in an exaggerated mask of concentration. "I'm positive you never juggled ferrets in the circus before going to college."

Sara shook her head. "If you actually know anyone who did, I'll eat my backpack."

"But I was right."

"Only on a technicality."

"Technicalities count," he insisted.

"But it comes out of your prize," she countered.

"Now you tell me. All I need is one more fact. You like animals," he said with conviction, but she laughed.

"Who doesn't?"

"Too many people."

"I don't think that's a story I want to hear," she said, the mood slightly soured.

"No." Grissom sipped his soda, feeling upset that he'd derailed the playful banter. Prolonged casual conversation wasn't his strongest suit; he had things to say, but it seemed it was never what people wanted to hear. He came to terms with it ages ago, but now it seemed to matter; he needed her to understand.

"That's a problem I have," he found himself saying softly. "The work. The hours are bad enough, but there's always lingering smells, and the things you see at work aren't the things most people want to hear about. I wasn't kidding when I said I wasn't good at this. Just talking to people," he added quickly, wondering why he felt the need to clarify.

Her gaze was serious but friendly. "You stick with the job. There must be something good about it."

"I think I was made for this line of work. It suitsme. It's an important job," he said truthfully. "Someone has to do it, and there is a certain satisfaction in knowing you're helping get dangerous people off the streets."

"But it's not always pleasant," she said.

"Very seldom."

Another pause stretched out, and Sara broke the silence. "Do you have trouble hiring people?"

"Not in Las Vegas," Grissom said.

"What? Criminalists turn into gambling addicts?" she asked jokingly.

"We have the best lab in the country. Well, next to the FBI lab, and that doesn't count. We usually get a couple thousand applications a year."

"Why doesn't it count?"

"It's the FBI," he stated as if the reason was obvious.

"Of course." Looking at her watch, she gave a shrug. "Guess it's time to head back."

She waited as he dumped the trash and escorted her back outside. "Thanks for the lunch. I haven't had a burger in a long time."

"It wasn't very much," he said, starting to ask her out to dinner before grudgingly rejecting the idea. For all his interest and willingness to get to know Sara better, his rational mind had decades of practice directing his behavior, and it overrode his desires.

One thing about which it was adamant was that he did not date his students. It was an ethical breech too wide to contemplate.

No matter if she was everything he ever wanted.

"I still appreciate it," she said, and the look she gave him was something he knew he'd always cherish.

"I liked it, too. Even if I sounded like a crazy stalker. Which I'm not, so you can trust me," he whispered conspiratorially.

A criminalist from Los Angeles took over the session immediately after lunch, giving Grissom a short break. He sat in the wings, trying to focus on his colleague, but his eyes kept drifting toward Sara. Watching her, he tried to understand the surge of feelings, or, more accurately, the memory of feelings she caused.

His head injury played a part in it, he was certain of that, but he found it impossible to dismiss the whole thing so objectively. Talking to her had been easy, easier than he remembered with anyone except his parents. There was some sort of connection, and he doubted it existed just because his brain insisted that he remembered it.

She was someone special. He only needed to figure out how she fit into his life.

His talk finished out the afternoon, and he asked if there were any questions with a sense of dread. As always, they were mundane and obvious, the hallmark of people who were required to attend the lectures but didn't really pay attention. Most of them wouldn't return for the last two days, and he started to rejoice until he realized that probably included Sara.

He was ready to dismiss the group when her hand went up. His head nodded in her direction, as the thought of never seeing her again nagged at him. There had to be a way of keeping in touch, and his mind raced to find it. Her question made him smile openly.

"What's your major?" he asked.

"Physics," she answered with a curious look.

"Really? Because you understand this better than the entomology students who had to be here," he said, launching into a detailed explanation of her question and the significance of it.

Answers led to further questions, and the audience started to trickle out. Once alone, he left the lectern to take a seat nearby to continue their discussion. For the next ninety minutes, he supplied information as eagerly as she absorbed it. Thrilled at finding someone with a similar passion for learning, he was working up the nerve to change the conversation to something more personal when she swore.

"Shit! Sorry, Dr., uh, Grissom," she said, shoving her notebook in her backpack. "I'm late for work. Thanks for taking the time to answer my questions. I didn't mean to keep you so long."

"It's okay," he said, standing up quickly, watching as she half-ran to the door. "Can I give you a ride?"

She seemed shocked by the suggestion, and he feared she had lingering doubts about his mental state. He certainly did. "It's not a problem," he added, swiftly grabbing his notes and briefcase. "I have to go out to get some dinner, and I can drop you off."

"Thanks," she finally said, and they hurried to the parking lot. Once in his rental car, she directed him into a less-than-stellar part of town, pointing to a building that looked like it was defying gravity by still standing.

"You work here?"

"Yeah. Uh, it's a dump, the beer sucks, the salads have good days and bad days, but it's the best pizza in town," she said.

"I like pizza," Grissom said, trying to convince himself that she hadn't sounded hopeful.

Giving him a parting smile, she dashed into the building, and he followed at a more leisurely pace. The rundown booths packed with families indicated the food was most likely edible, and he had to settle for a wobbly table near the back. He spotted Sara behind the bar, with a heavily tattooed man waving his arms wildly as she tried to explain why she was late. Letting out a disapproving sigh, he retrieved his notes from his briefcase.

His waitress was rude but punctual, and the pizza was excellent. Grissom ate in silence, reading over his court notes so he'd be prepared to testify when he returned to Vegas. The waitress pointedly asked him if he was ready to leave several times, but he just ordered another soda. When a plate of salad and two glasses appeared on the table, he started to protest but found himself gaping when Sara took a seat opposite him.

"Not a good day for the salad," he said, watching her dig into something he'd have thrown out of his fridge.

"That's why I didn't bring you one. This is actually one of its better days. Helps prevent scurvy," she said, and he doubted she was completely joking. "How can you concentrate in here?"

Grissom looked around in surprise and then shrugged. "You expect a pizza joint to be noisy, so it's easy to ignore. It's distracting when the hotel is noisy. I think the real question is how you can work here."

"It's not bad. The owners scream a lot, but they're all bark, and they're good about working around exam schedules. We get a free salad and sodas for our break, and the tips are a hell of a lot better here than at Chuck E. Cheese's."

Frowning, he tried to process that statement. "The place with the rat in the hat?"

"I think it's a mouse now. Trust me, it's not a place for good tips. Oh, thanks," she said when he passed her his leftover slices of pizza. "Uh, Grissom, can I ask you a question?"

His lips twitched as he lifted his glass. "I think you just did."

She gave him a perfunctory smile in return, but her tone was serious. "I meant about work. Your work."

"Sure."

"How does someone get started? I mean, is there any special certification you need, or can you apply right after graduation?"

"You want to go into forensics?" he asked, wondering why he felt hesitant to encourage her. Their discussion earlier showed she was incredibly intelligent, and the field needed more talent.

"Yes."

He looked down at his glass, apparently fascinated by the patterns its condensation made on the coaster. "Why?"

"The police asked my grad advisor to help with a case. I helped him, and I really liked the work. It's what I want to do," she answered cautiously.

"Field work is very different than lab work. You never actually see the scenes."

"I figured as much."

"A science degree helps, but it's not strictly needed," he said, continuing slowly. Even he recognized she wasn't happy with his responses. "I think you have a good educational background."

"But not the balls?"

Grissom looked up and blinked in surprise. "That has nothing to do with it," he insisted firmly.

She regarded him evenly. "But I get the impression you don't think I can do the job."

"I know you can do the job," he said, lowering his voice to speak gently. "What I don't know is for how long."

"What do you mean?"

"The burnout rate is high. Most criminalists never make it beyond eight years. It takes a special personality to deal with what we see on a daily basis."

"And you don't think I can cut it?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "There's no way to predict who's going to burn out. I'd suggest an internship if there's one available. It's not the same as being a criminalist, but it'll give you a better idea of what it's like than lab work."

"Thanks for the advice. I'll see what I can find," she said as she started to get up.

"What time do you get off?"

Sara paused for a moment to stare at him quizzically. "Eleven."

Grissom licked his lips nervously. "I'll give you a ride home."

She continued to stare. "You don't have to do that."

"You'd have to walk back. It doesn't look like a great neighborhood."

"I walk every night I work. It's not so bad," she said. "Besides, it's only eight now. I think Suzy is going to get really pissed if you keep hogging her table all night."

He started to protest, but some sense told him not to push the issue. Had he made her angry by not encouraging her to go into forensics? There was no logical reason to dissuade her, but a strong urge to protect her overcame his normal passion for forensics. Some people were too empathic for the work; it slowly ate away at them. He had no reason to believe that she'd be one of them, but it was too big of a chance to take.

But it wasn't his chance to take. She was intelligent and capable. If it was something she wanted to try, it wasn't his business to stop her. Besides, the idea of upsetting her, even accidentally, troubled him. He fished out a business card and a pen, holding up a hand to keep her there.

"Do you want to stay in this area?" he said, hurriedly writing something on the card. "I know the supervisor of the San Francisco lab. I'll ask him if there's an internship available this summer."

"Do you think I'd have a chance at it?" she asked, her grin forgiving any transgressions he might have made.

"Oh, yeah," Grissom said. Jose Hegira owed him plenty of favors, and he'd be happy to call it even with a paid internship for a brilliant student. "I expect him to show up for the last day of the lectures. I'll ask him then. I'll be back in Vegas by Monday, but I have a court appearance in the morning. My home number is on the back. You can call me collect, and I'll let you know."

"Or you can tell me after you ask him. I'm going to all the lectures," she said, but still taking the card from him.

_Sara's just being polite,_ he told himself, fighting down his excitement that she wanted his home phone number. _She's a student who lives hundreds of miles away. It's wrong, and you know it. Nothing is going to come of this. Nothing can._

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning," he said with a poignant smile when her break ended.

Odd dreams visited him during the night, but nothing he remembered, the embarrassing sticky residue the only indication of the nature of his visions. Rinsing out his boxers and pajama bottoms in the sink, he shook his head in disgust. Not at the mess – that was a natural condition, albeit not something he expected at his age.

He was on the verge of acting like a fool. She was a friend. Even if she was interested, it was impossible. Was he going to spend a long weekend with her once every month or two? What kind of relationship was that? It was all that was available to them, and she deserved better.

Which still left him with the nagging question of why his whole being insisted that Sara Sidle, a woman he knew less than a day, was the person with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. He was too old to be struck with infatuation, but grudgingly allowed that premature midlife crisis was a possibility.

He'd spent his life mastering his control. It was just two more days. Once back in Vegas, he'd be able to appreciate the friendship for what it was, and stop trying to force it into something else.

Grissom started the morning lecture with a lingering, mild headache. Sara continued to impress him with her ability, and he smiled as he answered her questions that afternoon. On the last day of the lecture, he spotted Hegira and arranged the internship before a forensic anthropologist gave the first morning talk.

Another colleague distracted him when they broke for lunch, but he finally found Sara sitting under a tree with an open book. He sat down nearby, tilting his head as he tried to read the page. "That makes about as much sense as your notes," he joked.

"I use shorthand," she said. "This is quantum mechanics."

"Well, I'm not sure how practical that will be when you're in the field," he said, waiting until she looked up in surprise. "The job is yours."

"Are you sure? Don't I have to apply?"

"Formally, yes. But I recommended you for the job, and, well, let's just say my recommendations carry some weight in forensic circles."

"Sweet!"

"Don't thank me until after you see your first decomp. You'll probably change your mind after that," he joked.

"I don't care what it's like. If it gets scum in jail, that's all that matters."

The vehemence in her tone caused him to cock his head and gaze questioningly, but she didn't offer any further explanation. Pinpricks of apprehension prodded his conscious, but he didn't press the issue.

They exchanged contact information at the end of the day, and Grissom swung by the rundown pizza parlor, hoping she was working that night. She never showed up, and he headed back to his hotel in a lonely mood.

The universe had given him a glimpse into an alluring future, but past demons refused to release his soul. There'd been too much rejection, too much pain in his life for him to so easily believe that he had a chance at happiness.

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

**Twist of Fate  
Summary: **For most people, the threads of life form an unchanging tapestry, with the past setting the pattern for the future. Can Grissom overcome his own doubts when given the chance to weave a new life? GSR, A/U**  
A/N:** This is a sequel to "If the Fates Allow", and I strongly suggest reading that story first to understand what's going on. Thanks to Gibby for agreeing to beta this mess. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. **  
Rating: **What's wrong with PG? Why do people always want smut? I don't do good smut. Let's call this a strong PG-13.**  
Disclaimer: **Do you really think anyone would trust me with these characters given what I put them through? I only play with them when the mood strikes.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Once back in Las Vegas, he sent a letter of recommendation to the San Francisco lab. It wasn't needed, but he wanted Sara to have it as part of her permanent record. If she decided to stay in forensics, it would open a lot of doors for her. The gesture was small, but it was one he could freely give her.

After his court appearance, he swung by the lab to ignore the stack of messages left for him. From his shelves, he dug out a copy of an introductory text on forensics to which he'd contributed, and then he made some copies of interesting journal articles to send to Sara. Remembering her enthusiasm for a simple burger, he debated sending a gift card to one of her local restaurants or markets. Finally he decided that reminding her of her financial situation had the potential to come across as demeaning, so he picked up a book of poetry instead.

_Not that she'll misconstrue the meaning of a book of love poems._

Grissom pulled the book out, hurriedly taping the box shut and addressing it. By the time he'd dropped it off at the post office, his head ached considerably. It didn't faze him, knowing that headaches were a common aftereffect from being knocked out. Once home, he put on some classical music, closed the blinds and sank into his sofa to relax. He'd done the right thing; the book of poems gave the wrong idea. He was an unofficial mentor. Love poetry implied an interest.

At some point, he fell asleep, because the visions that jerked him up couldn't have come from his conscious. As with the other images, he felt them more than remembered them, but these weren't the pleasant, sexual memories he'd had earlier. These were nightmares, raw and guttural, made all the worse by the sensation they were true.

Details were elusive, but they involved Sara. Alone and hurting, something that she didn't share with others. Something under the surface, scars running deep and painful. Not physical, nothing like cancer. These were emotional scars. Something, or someone, had hurt her. She needed him as much as he needed her, and he'd left her, abandoning the relationship before it ever started.

Muttering to himself, Grissom showered before fixing something to eat. His subconscious obviously still wanted Sara, and was punishing him for not following through. It was insane. She was a friend, and that was all she could ever be.

No matter how he tried to dismiss them, the nightmares plagued him for the next few nights, and his headache worsened whenever he tried to ignore them. Padding into his kitchen after the fourth one, he reached for a bottle of bourbon, but a new thought warned him against it.

Sitting on the exam table, he waited as his vitals were taken and Dr. Martin read over the file in front on her. It had been easy to get the appointment; he so rarely went to the doctor that she knew it was something serious when he called.

"Were you unconscious?"

"I think so. Long enough for a couple of people to gather around me," Grissom answered.

"And you didn't see a doctor then? Why doesn't that surprise me?" she asked rhetorically, knowing her patient's aversion to getting aid. "Do you have any ringing in your ears?"

"No. No dizziness, no nausea, no numbness, no problems with my memory."

"Just headaches then?" she asked, starting her physical examination.

Grissom recognized the doubt in her tone. "Weird dreams."

"Define weird."

"Weird," he said, blinking after she finished running the light over his eyes. "I don't really remember them. There's a sense of unease afterwards. It's almost like a warning."

"Like you want to avoid walking into ladders?"

"No. It's not me. It's someone else. A, uh, friend. She's in trouble. It's nothing to do with post-traumatic stress."

"You know, this would be easier if you let me be the doctor, Gil," she said, continuing her examination. "Do you have any pain in your neck?"

"No, I feel fine except for the headaches and the nightmares."

After finishing her exam, Dr. Martin rested her hip on the desk and regarded him closely. "This friend, is she real, or something your mind made up?"

"I came here for a physical, not to have my head shrunk," he sighed. "She's real. I met her when I was at Berkeley."

"And she's already a friend?" Seeing his warning glare, she held her hands up. "Besides a bruise on your head, I don't see anything physically wrong with you. We'll get you a CAT scan to be on the safe side, but lingering headaches are common after a mild concussion, a fact I'm sure you already know."

"Why do I get the idea you think I'm not going to like what you say next?"

"Because I've been your doctor for ten years, and you're a royal pain in the ass, as far as patients go," Martin stated without rancor. "Nightmares after an accident aren't unusual. If something shows up on the scan, I'll refer you to a neurologist, but I think you'd be better off talking to someone, Gil, if the nightmares don't go away."

He left the doctor's office with an air of dissatisfaction. While happy that he hadn't seriously hurt himself, Grissom wished there had been a physical explanation for his odd almost-memories and nightmares. That was something he understood.

Love wasn't.

But this wasn't love.

That was out of the question.

No matter what the poets proclaimed, love didn't just happen at the drop of a hat, or, in his case, the collision with a ladder. It was something that grew, was nurtured and cultivated carefully around the obstacles life threw at it. You didn't decide one morning that a beautiful young stranger was your soulmate.

Not if you wanted to avoid mental institutions.

With a resigned air, he went for his scan, ate a late dinner and pondered the issue as he drove to the lab. The idea of talking to a counselor repelled him on a personal level. Other people needed help with their thinking; the stability of his mind was the bedrock on which he built his life.

But if there wasn't a physical cause for his 'condition' then, perhaps, there was a psychological reason. Unlike a physical injury, it wasn't likely to just go away, and he'd had no luck trying to ignore it.

The motive wasn't too hard to work out; his subconscious wanted him to get closer to Sara. Apparently, it didn't reside in the real world.

But was the idea really so ridiculous?

For the first time, he considered the issue logically. Maybe this wasn't about Sara specifically, but about his lack of a serious love life in general. He dismissed the idea as soon as it formed; it was about Sara. While he could never feel comfortable dating a student, that was a temporary condition. She'd graduate the next spring.

Grissom never wanted to end up alone, but he knew better than anyone that was his future. Unless he finally made a move to change his path. Could he get closer to her without seeming like a maniac or ruining their budding friendship? It was a figurative tightrope walk without safety nets, and he wasn't exactly known for his ability to balance personal matters.

He wouldn't know unless he tried, and Grissom surprised himself with his willingness to approach the idea. There were details to work out – like how to even start – but he had time. He had the rest of his life.

With a chuckle, he wondered if Fate had finally decided to give him a slap upside his head.

There was a letter from Sara waiting for him at the lab, and he hurried to his office to read it in private. The thank you note made him happy. It was a small courtesy, but a personal one. The little touches and jokes meant she'd spent time on this; he could even read her handwriting without too much trouble.

"So, you are alive."

With a start, he jerked his head up as Catherine entered his office and took a seat opposite him.

"Am I not supposed to be?" he asked genially.

"You haven't looked that good since you got back from California," she said, frowning as she watched him. "And I got word from one of the uniforms that you were admitted to Desert Palms earlier."

"Outpatient. Just a head scan."

"_Just_? What's wrong?" she demanded, her concern obvious.

He considered ignoring her, but only for a brief moment. Catherine was a friend by default. She had decided that he was her friend, and automatically assumed the converse was also true. It was easier not to fight her, and it was nice to have someone voluntarily come to talk to him, even if usually involved her complaining about Eddie or her talking about clothing.

"Mild concussion. It's nothing serious."

"The hell it isn't!"

"I don't think they heard you in Reno," he said disapprovingly. "I hit my head when I was at Berkeley. I've been having recurring headaches," he said pointedly. "Yelling really doesn't help it."

"You've been working all this time with a concussion. Why, Gil? Go home. God knows you have enough leave stored up. I promise we won't blow up the lab while you're away."

"No, you'll do it while I'm here," he found himself saying, and he gave her a weak smile at her hurt expression. "Murphy's Law. My head is going to hurt wherever I am, and I can find things to distract me here."

"It's your headache," she said, pausing to give him a friendly look. "Let me know if you change your mind."

Grissom lifted a hand in a vague wave as she left, but her words resonated with him. He did have an incredible amount of leave. Taking a few days vacation was trivial matter; explaining to Sara why he decided to take it in Berkeley was another. There weren't any other talks or conventions in the area that he knew of, so he didn't have those as cover.

For a moment, he thought of inviting her to Las Vegas for her spring break, but that posed several discomforting problems. She probably didn't have the spare cash sitting around for an unplanned trip, and offering to pay wasn't a good idea.

More importantly, she'd probably want to visit the lab, and that was something he didn't want. As interested as he was in pursuing her, he couldn't change who he was. And privacy was a fundamental aspect of his personality.

There was also propriety. She was still a student, much younger than he was. If it got out that they were involved, people would reach conclusions, the type that wouldn't help either of their careers. And while Grissom gave the impression that he didn't care what people thought, he did when it came to some matters. His professional reputation topped that short list.

With a shrug, he put her card into his briefcase and gathered the night's assignment slips. In the morning, he wrote a long letter in return. For now, he'd work on building a foundation, strengthening their budding friendship so it would be more natural when he did go for a visit.

As the months went by, they continued to exchange letters. He sent her additional articles, along with a book of short stories. To his amazement, she easily kept up with the supply of information he sent her way, occasionally asking questions, but always impressing him with her intelligence.

More amazingly, he found his interest never waned. He suspected the odd desire to be with her, the overwhelming sense that their lives were meant to intertwine, would fade along with his headaches. But, if anything, he felt stronger about her now that all the lingering symptoms of his concussion were gone.

That gave him the courage to make a small step.

Just before she started her internship, he mentioned that he'd be passing through San Francisco for a few days vacation, and tried to casually ask if she'd be interested in meeting up. Her answering letter told him to call when he got into town.

It didn't take him long to find the rental where she was spending the summer, but his festive mood evaporated when the door was opened by a nude man. Grissom did a quick double-take to verify the address, but Sara's voice called to him from inside. Her infectious grin baffled him.

"Interesting, uh, _friend_ you have there," he ventured once outside.

"Larry is many things, but I'm not sure 'friend' is a term I'd use. Exhibitionist, yeah," she added with another amused smirk. "Not that he has a lot to show off."

He glanced at her, and felt his face working into a confused scowl. She was living with another guy, but she seemed thrilled to be with him.

"This is San Francisco," she added meaningfully, laughing at his delayed reaction. "Prices are insane here, so I had to rent a room. Now that Larry's found a new boyfriend, I think he's trying to get me to move out."

"Isn't there somewhere nicer you can go? It can't be easy staying with a jerk who's trying to drive you away."

"Larry is a rank amateur when it comes to being a jerk, and I have a signed lease. He's not getting rid of me."

Grissom stopped short, the words cutting into him. He wanted to ask details and feared the answers. She shrugged her shoulders dismissively when she noticed his concern, and immediately she grinned widely.

"Do you like seafood?"

It took him a moment to let the matter slip, and he gave her a small smile in return. "Very much."

"Then I know the perfect place for lunch."

Normally, he wasn't a touristy type of person, but Grissom followed blissfully as she showed him the sights. Sara teased him for not bringing a camera, and he hoped she didn't realize this was all a ruse to see her again. The day ended with them eating ice cream cones and watching the sun disappear from the top of a hill. He found himself again stunned at how easily they got along.

"You start work on Monday?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah."

"Feel free to give me a call if you have any questions." It wasn't the smoothest transition, but he was out of practice. "About anything."

She turned to watch him closely, licking her cone in ways that threatened to embarrass him. "Do you always pick a student from one of your talks to mentor?"

"You aren't any student," he said, almost sure she blushed.

"You aren't any teacher," she added softly, and Grissom was certain her look caused him to flush.

He struggled for a response, not wanting to string her along. Despite all his growing affection for her, she was still a student and therefore off-limits. Unable to think of something to say, he smiled. She returned the gesture before settling back to enjoy the sunset.

"You know," he said, surprising himself a little while later. "You still owe me a prize."

"I do?"

"Best two out of three."

"I still say you cheated with the juggling ferrets," she said, but her voice sounded husky. In the fading light, he wasn't sure, but he thought she licked her lips nervously. "So, what do you want?"

His mouth hung open for a moment until he regained control. He'd been joking about the prize, but she appeared serious. And dangerously inviting. "Well, the Entomological Society's annual meeting is in Palo Alto this September."

"Okay," she said in obvious confusion.

"It's not too far from Berkeley. I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner while I'm in town."

Her look carried mixed emotions, but she finally settled on a bashful grin. "All right."

They eventually parted company, and Grissom returned to Vegas amid wild speculations. He'd only taken vacation to participate in cockroach races before, and his sudden departure had everyone curious. He didn't provide any answers, actually believing that would end the rumors.

Sara sent him another note later, thanking him again for the recommendation and asserting that she was learning a lot on the job. Shyly, she admitted she was still trying to get her stomach under control. He wrote back suggesting ginger ale and asking if she had a preference for where she wanted to have dinner. Their correspondence grew more regular, including a mix of e-mail, letters and boxes of informational material from Grissom.

He met up with Jose Hegira at the cockroach races that summer. The San Francisco supervisor sang Sara's praises, only regretting she that was paid hourly.

"Why?" he asked worriedly.

"Because she'd worked nonstop if I'd let her," Hegira answered with a laugh. "I don't think she ever sleeps."

The conversation bothered Grissom, so he dropped it. Watching the races distractedly, he remembered the intensity Sara showed when stating her desire to get into forensics, and he feared there was a personal motive involved. That bothered him, implying something had happened to her or someone close to her.

Recalling their various conversations, he realized she never talked about her past. He knew she'd gone to Harvard as an undergraduate, but that was it. She never talked about her family or her childhood.

Then again, neither did he.

But it didn't mean something tragic directed him toward forensics. It just wasn't a happy time for him, and he preferred not to talk about. Some nebulous thread wove around his psyche, warning him it was different with Sara. The clues were subtle, and he wasn't sure he was reading them correctly, but there was a wariness under the surface of happiness she projected, almost as if she wanted to convince herself her life was fine.

In his next letter, he included an article that served as a convenient transition to talking about his childhood love of cowboys. Her response included questions about it, but she offered nothing about herself. He tapped his pencil as he read her e-mail, realizing the medium was too impersonal to provide clues.

Determined to at least get some practice conversing, he tried to include little tidbits about himself in his letters, hoping to draw out information from her. Sara's responses grew more personal, but she still refrained from talking about her past. He took the hint and stopped trying to get clues.

The internship went well, with the lab offering her a permanent position in the fall, but her schedule didn't allow for it. She sent him a box of chocolate-covered ants, thanking him for all the material and support he'd provided. He wrote back to remind her of their upcoming dinner.

Her schedule meant they had to go out on the last night of the conference, and he spent the time in state of anticipation. When the evening of the event approached, Grissom found himself fidgeting like a nervous teenager. He needed to be careful that she didn't mistake his slowness as playing with her affections.

All he had to do was convince his libido to behave.

Sara was calmly flipping through a stack of index cards when he arrived, but her welcoming greeting contained promise. "Exam tomorrow," she explained as she grabbed her jacket and purse. He looked around her efficiency apartment, noting the little touches that it made it look like something other an oversized closet.

"We don't have to go out if you need to study," he offered reluctantly, but she shook her head vigorously.

Grissom insisted she bring the cards along, and he drove silently to let her review her notes some more. The situation reminded him that she was still a student, at least until she graduated in the spring. He had plenty of patience, though, and he vowed to enjoy the night for what it was.

They'd barely been seated when Sara eagerly launched into conversation. "They offered me a job when I graduate. I'm taking it."

"Oh." He fought to compose himself, shocked by how much the news upset him. "I'm not surprised. I heard good things about you."

"And you never told me."

"I forgot," he said, taking refuge behind the menu and trying to hide his displeasure. Part of him had hoped that she'd hate forensics, had secretly planned on it in the darker recesses of his mind. If that had happened, then she'd be free to come to Vegas for another job, solving the distance portion of their relationship obstacle course.

Working with someone he was involved with was another issue, and one that was harder to solve.

His feelings that she was the woman for him were even stronger now, although the ghost memories no longer bothered him. But there was no denying the difficulties ahead. Bringing her to Las Vegas was out of the question; the speculation would ruin both of their careers. He also had serious doubts about making a long-distance relationship work long-term.

"Is everything okay?" she asked a few moments later.

Her unease was obvious, and he gave her a reassuring smile. There was still time to figure the details out later. For now, he was going to enjoy her company. They talked about various things over dinner, and Grissom was adamant about getting her home early to finish studying for her exam.

She invited him in, and it was impossible not to sit near her; the room was just too small. He read her questions from the text, sipping a glass of iced tea while she confidently answered him. It wasn't until an uncontrollable yawn split his face that he looked at his watch, surprised to find it was well past midnight.

"Don't you ever sleep?" he asked, uncomfortably reminded of her work habits.

"Not a lot," she said, shrugging at his concerned stare. "I've always been a bit of an insomniac."

"You need to sleep. I don't want you failing an exam because you were trying to entertain me."

"Do you find reading me questions on a subject you know nothing about to be entertaining?" she asked jokingly.

"I do know something about physics," he said with a mock-pout.

She gave him a challenging grin. "So we can talk about thermal de Broglie wavelength theory and Fermi-Dirac statistics."

"Of course we can," Grissom answered smoothly. "I'll just do the listening and you can do the talking. But not tonight. Get some rest, Sara. And thanks for dinner."

"I should be thanking you."

"I can't have my first protégée getting scurvy," he quipped, leaning against the door and watching as she moved to join him.

"Your first," she said, a hint of tease in her voice and in her eyes. "I feel special."

"You are."

Her head dropped shyly, briefly turning in the direction of her bed. The idea was tempting, almost too much to resist, but he took her hand in his and held it gently.

"I need to go now," he whispered.

Sara looked up at him with a mix of uncertainty and awkwardness, and he softened his expression. His actions had to be sending mixed signals, leaving her unsettled by his behavior.

"It's not fair," he said, keeping his voice low and soothing. "I keep visiting you. I think you should come to Las Vegas this summer."

She watched him for a long moment, tentative realization visible in her eyes. "After I graduate, _Professor_ Grissom?"

He smiled gently as his head gave a brief bob. "Call me Gil."

Sara leaned against the doorframe, still carefully regarding him. "Well, Gil, I'm not much of a gambler. I'm not sure what I'd do in Las Vegas."

"I'm sure we can find some things to amuse you."

She ducked her head for a second, a slight blush gracing her cheeks when she turned back to him. "That sounds promising. Could I visit the lab if I came out? You weren't kidding about it being good. Everyone in San Francisco kept talking about your solve rate."

"I, uh, don't know about that," he stammered, suddenly feeling nervous. There'd be too many questions if he brought her to the lab, especially when they learned she was coming to visit him. "They aren't big on giving tours. We'll have to see."

The excuse was lame to his own ears. A suspicious look crossed her face, but she nodded sagely. She retracted her hand and stood up straight. "We'll, uh, see what happens this summer, then."

Fearing he'd ruined the mood, he tried to find a way of explaining that he wasn't ashamed to be seen with her, that he wasn't only interested in a sexual fling. He wanted to explain that he was trying to protect their privacy, but the right words eluded him. Everything he thought of sounded like a poor excuse, and he was lost.

After a moment, she stepped away and gave him a sad smile. "Thanks for a great night, Gil."

He let out a breath, reaching for her hand one more time and giving it a parting squeeze. "Good night, Sara."

Back in Las Vegas, Grissom tried to bury his funk at the lab, working even longer hours. He repeated his invitation to visit in his next letter, but Sara was vague in her response, refusing to commit to the trip. In the privacy of his home, he suspected he had ruined things, and he wasn't sure how to repair the damage.

In all his letters, he had refrained from revealing much about himself. There were little stories like when he fell off a horse at age six, or how he liked monster movies as a child, but nothing personal, nothing dangerous. Sitting at his home desk, he painfully constructed his next message, balancing his innate sense of privacy with the need to make some sort of overture.

The final product hinted at an unhappy childhood and a statement that he was very private.

Grissom read over it in a mood of dissatisfaction, feeling it lacked the depth of revelation that was needed. There was one of the old almost-memories that Sara would tolerate a lot from him, but that only added to his remorse. As a final gesture, he included the book of poetry he had wanted to send before.

Sara's response was sweet, but it didn't provide enough clues for him to fully understand where they stood.

A new assistant district attorney, Melinda Rice, started work shortly afterward, and she made her interest in him clear. Part of him wanted to take up her offer, to escape from his pain, but he couldn't. It wasn't fair to her, and he still wanted to make things work with Sara. He'd be faithful until certain there was no chance of that.

Finally, he told Melinda that he was seeing someone already, and that convinced her to give up on him.

He kept up correspondence with Sara, and he drew some comfort from the fact that she promptly replied to everything he sent. He suspected that she was confused by his motives, but he wasn't sure how to explain them better. Neither mentioned the idea of the summer visit again.

The San Francisco lab had a vacancy, and Hegira wanted Sara to start work immediately after graduation. She was busy with mandatory training and classes, and Grissom knew it would be a long while before she'd be able to get a vacation. His own schedule was as unyielding, with a series of important court cases, lectures in Miami and Boston, and a string of crimes too big for him to ignore.

He did make time to keep in touch with Sara, savoring the communication. Even if he ruined any romantic overtures, she was still friendly with him. It was cold comfort, and his dreams again haunted him with disturbing images he could never quite remember when he woke up. Finally he worked up the nerve to phone her, and they spent an hour chatting casually. He wanted to bring up the idea of another visit, but he wasn't sure how to approach it.

The sense of loneliness that always followed him grew more pronounced as time drew on, but he developed no ideas on how to address the situation. It was going to be difficult to have a relationship while they lived hundreds of miles apart, and she wanted to stay in forensics. As much as his personal life troubled him, he maintained his professionalism, never letting his concerns interfere with work.

So it came as a shock when Catherine entered his office one day, closing the door behind her softly. Her concerned expression made him wonder if she'd finally decided to leave Eddie, but he was baffled when she rested on the edge of his desk.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, and he pursed his lips in abject confusion.

"It?"

"Her."

He blinked, and his brow furrowed. "Her?"

Catherine tossed her head, but she gave him a determined look. "You can repeat what I say all you want, but I'm not buying the dumb act. Melinda told me."

"Melinda?" he repeated, leaning back in his chair and staring in bewilderment. It wasn't an act; he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Come on, Gil," she sighed. "I'm your friend. Everyone's noticed how, well, withdrawn you've been lately. I know it's bothering you."

"It is?"

She leaned forward, patting his hand in a friendly gesture. He cocked his head, briefly wondering if he was having a bizarre dream. Letting out a sigh, she said, "Everyone knows Sofia is sleeping with Roberts from dayshift."

Grissom pulled his glasses off and waved them weakly in the space between them. "And I would care about this because?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, for the first time doubt evident in her voice.

"Well, to start with, I don't know who these people are," he stated slowly. "Or what it has to do with me."

"Melinda. The ADA who wanted to get into your pants, the one you blew off. She asked me who you were dating. I figured it was Sofia," she explained.

"Oh," Grissom said as realization dawned. He had never considered that she'd try to find out who he'd been talking about. Leave it to Catherine to try to solve the mystery, and to get it so completely wrong. "Who's Sofia?"

"Sofia Curtis, CSI three from days," she said, rolling her eyes at his continued stare of confusion. "The blonde that was flirting all over you during the refresher seminar on arson investigations."

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, thinking back to the course. He hadn't paid that much attention, since he knew the material thoroughly and had slept poorly the day before due to the vague, haunting dreams that kept waking him up. Fuzzy memories of an attractive blonde leaning over him to examine a charred timber sprang to his mind.

"Oh, her," he finally said. "She was flirting with me? I didn't notice."

"Yeah," Catherine answered with a chortle. "So, I guess that wasn't who you were dating."

Grissom put his glasses back on and picked up a folder in self-defense. It was nice that she cared, but he had no interest in sharing his personal life with her.

"Didn't it work out with whoever?"

"I don't know what you mean," he answered offhandedly.

"Right. Because you haven't been all mopey for ages."

"I don't mope," he insisted firmly, glaring at her over the top of his glasses. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

She ignored his not-so-subtle hints, her eyebrow lifting as she concentrated. "This has been going on for a while now. Ever since you got back from that bug jamboree."

"It was an Entomological Review, and nothing about it would interest you."

"Palo Alto," she said, hopping off his desk so suddenly he leaned back in surprise. "Your sudden trip to San Francisco last summer. You're seeing someone there. I knew something was up when you took a vacation!"

"Don't you have a body waiting in the morgue?" he asked, but her victorious grin suggested his expression gave away too much.

"It's not getting any deader. Something has had you down for a long time. How bad is it?"

"Catherine," he exhaled impatiently, tossing his pen on the desk. "I, look, there's nothing to talk about."

She stood by his side for a bit, looking maternal as she patted his shoulder. "Do you need a vacation? I'll get my sister to watch Linds for a long weekend, and I can cover for you."

"I'll keep the offer in mind," he said, pointing to the door with enough irritation to get her to leave.

"Just don't wait until it's too late," she said in warning, and the words sent a jolt of trepidation down his spine.

Around the same time Warrick Brown caught his attention, and he considered mentoring the young man. He'd gotten a sense of professional satisfaction from guiding Sara, but he was uncertain about making the same offer to Warrick. There wasn't any logical reason for it; he was dedicated, intelligent and had the potential to be a good leader, but there was an unexplainable sense that it wasn't a good idea. Overcoming his inner hesitation, Grissom finally decided to take him under his wing, carefully grooming him as a potential replacement.

The next morning he woke suddenly from his sleep. This dream he remembered vividly, and the answer seemed so obvious – if he couldn't bring Sara to Las Vegas, he could go to San Francisco.

The idea was simple and logical, and he flatly discarded it. Too many decades of rejection left him unable to make such a massive change in his life for something so tenuous. But it was tempting; it would allow them to be in the same city and follow their chosen careers. If he was sure that they had a future together, it was something to consider. The main trouble was he didn't know if he still had a chance.

With a sad sigh, he realized that a year had passed since he last saw Sara. The notes and phone calls were nice, but he needed more. He wanted to see her, to hold her, to make things right. He looked at his calendar as he fixed dinner; Thanksgiving was coming up, and he wondered if there was some way to get together for the holiday. As the junior CSI, she probably had to work, but he could go to San Francisco again.

If she was interested.

It took a few letters to work up the nerve to broach the subject, and he settled down to wait for a response. When a Fed Ex package from San Francisco arrived that day, he stared at it in confusion. The 'urgent' label caught his attention, and personal fears flew out the window as he reviewed the crime scene photographs.

He had already called the airlines, shoved the package and some reference books into his briefcase and was storming out of the building when he nearly collided with Catherine.

"Where's the fire?" she asked flippantly.

"You're in charge of night shift until I get back," he called over his shoulder, and she bolted to catch up with him.

"Where are you going?"

"San Francisco. It's a case," he half-sneered when she started to grin. "They need my help. They have several murders, and bugs that don't belong in the US. I don't know how many days I'll be there."

"There's no rush," she said pointedly. "Take a couple days for yourself while you're there."

He stopped for a moment to stare at her before hurrying home to pack. His mind focused on the case, but hope began to twine its way through his heart.

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

**Twist of Fate  
Summary: **For most people, the threads of life form an unchanging tapestry, with the past setting the pattern for the future. Can Grissom overcome his own doubts when given the chance to weave a new life? GSR, A/U**  
A/N:** This is a sequel to "If the Fates Allow", and I strongly suggest reading that story first to understand what's going on. Thanks to Gibby for agreeing to beta this mess, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed. It's greatly appreciated and makes the writing worthwhile.**  
Rating: **What's wrong with PG? Why do people always want smut? I don't do good smut. Let's call this a strong PG-13.**  
Disclaimer: **Do you really think anyone would trust me with these characters given what I put them through? I only play with them when the mood strikes.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Once on the flight, Grissom examined the photos in more detail, searching for clues to help explain the unusual insects. He felt a certain professional pride that Sara had recognized their significance, and a thrill that she'd contacted him immediately. Personal hopes reared in his subconscious, but he kept his attention focused on the case. They'd be able to talk afterwards.

Sara greeted him at the reception desk in the San Francisco lab, and he knew she hadn't slept in too long.

"Thanks for coming," she said gratefully. "I wasn't really expecting you."

"Of course I'd come," he said, unable to completely contain the hurt in his tone.

"I figured you'd e-mail me or call," she said in explanation. "Uh, my boss doesn't know you were coming. I didn't clear it or anything."

"Don't worry about the pay. And I'll need to see the insects themselves."

"Why? Who the hell is this, Sidle?" an angry voice boomed out as they entered a meeting room.

He saw her physically tense, recalling an earlier comment about her immediate supervisor being an overbearing ass. Turning to the man, he had to agree with the assessment, and he regarded him coolly. Before either of them could answer, the man shoved his finger in Sara's face, and he saw her balling her fists to control her temper; Grissom felt his anger threatening to boil over.

"What part of keeping this quiet don't you understand? We're getting enough heat now without bringing in _visitors_," he barked before turning to Grissom. "Who the hell are you?"

Automatically, he stepped between Sara and the hulking man, his expression dangerous as he fought to keep his control. Before he could respond, the lab director, Jose Hegira, entered the room.

"His name, Morris, is Dr. Gilbert Grissom, and he's probably written more articles on forensics than I've ever read," Hegira said, extending his hand in greeting. "Good to see you, Gil. I wish the circumstances were better."

"Jose."

"I didn't realize there was some evidence in this case that would attract the attention of one of the world's foremost experts on forensic entomology," Hegira said, giving Morris a pointed glare. "I'm sure I asked that all relevant information be forwarded to my office."

"Apparently, I didn't make it clear that the bugs I found on the bodies were important," Sara said tightly.

Hegira darted his eyes from Sara to Grissom's protective stance, and he gave his friend a penetrating stare. "Is that a fact?"

"CSI Sidle recognized that the insects found on your victims weren't native to this area, and, in fact, cannot live in this area," he said, trying to keep things professional. There was obviously some sort of office dynamics at work here, and he wanted to avoid creating trouble for Sara.

He also had an overwhelming urge to deck Morris. The man's attitude towards her had Grissom on edge, fighting down a protective side he never knew existed. It was silly, not only because it was immature, but because Sara didn't need assistance in defending or standing up for herself.

"So, the bodies were killed somewhere else and dumped," Morris said, trying to make the information sound unimpressive. "Is that reason to bring in someone from the outside, without authorization," he added nastily.

"Do you often have bodies killed in Madagascar and dumped in the Bay Area?" Grissom responded with deadly calm, then focusing on Hegira. "CSI Sidle sent me copies of the photos, but I need to examine the insects personally. Given the nature of the crime, I didn't want to waste time with bureaucracy."

"I appreciate it, Gil. The mayor is really starting to put the pressure on us to catch this killer. We've had five bodies found already, and all of them were murdered brutally. Sara, since you've worked with Dr. Grissom before, I want you to help him. You can take over one of the labs downstairs."

Grissom nearly sputtered when Hegira gave him a private wink.

After the briefing finished, Angry Morris – Grissom never bothered to find out if that was his first or last name – stormed out. Sara led him to a stairway at the end of the hallway, the tension still evident in her posture. Once in the privacy of a lab, he closed the door and raised an eyebrow.

"I think 'overbearing ass' was an understatement."

She let out an angry huff of air as she gathered the insects collected from the bodies. "He's a damned dinosaur who doesn't understand anything more complicated than fingerprints. No one is going to miss him when he retires next month. The only reason he hasn't been fired is that he has friends on the city council."

"I know the type," Grissom said in sympathy, and they settled into an easy routine of examining each of the insects closely. By working late into the night, they'd verified that each body contained at least one insect that wasn't native to the San Francisco area. More importantly, the bugs came from different continents – with some corpses hosting their own entomological United Nations.

Some of the insects had very specific and narrow living requirements, and this helped to limit the possible locations where the murders took place. There was a sense of professional satisfaction, but when he caught Sara yawning out of the corner of his eye, he insisted that they call it a night.

"I want to catch this creep," she said intently.

"So do I, but you need to be awake to do it," he said levelly. "How many days have you been working on this already?"

"A few."

"I don't know the city like you do. I need you awake and coherent to help me narrow down the places that house this many bugs. That means sleep. _I'm_ tired, and I haven't been working on this as long as you have."

"Fine," she said grudgingly, unable to stop another yawn. Rolling her eyes, she helped pack away the evidence and headed for the parking lot. She stopped beside his car, turning with a mildly worried expression. "Did you get a hotel room?"

"Not yet. How hard is it to get a room at this time of night?"

She winced. "You mean one that doesn't charge a fortune or doesn't charge by the hour?"

Grissom grunted, knowing he should have made reservations before leaving Las Vegas. He recalled hearing something at the airport about a convention in town.

"Look, uhm," Sara stammered, shifting her weight from foot to foot before facing him nervously. "I have a futon if you want to crash at my place for the night. It's stupid to pay a fortune for a room you're only going to be using for a couple of hours."

He stared silently for a moment, trying to decipher the invitation. On the surface, he understood it perfectly, but he wondered if there was a deeper meaning. Noticing her exhaustion, he decided there wasn't.

"Okay," he said. "Won't Larry mind?"

"No roommate," she said.

"Oh."

Her home appeared to be even smaller than her college efficiency, looking like it was once a one-car garage converted into a rental unit. She took a quick shower, coming out of the bathroom bearing a stack of towels, wearing just a skimpy top and pajama bottoms. She tossed him the towels, pulled a pillow off the bed and grabbed spare sheets from a shelf.

Giving his head a shake, he took the linens from her. "Get some sleep," he said softly. "I can make my own bed."

Grunting sleepily, she crawled into bed and fell asleep immediately. Feeling intrusive, he stood there for a moment to admire the view, wondering if he'd have a chance to join her anytime soon. His guilty conscience eventually sent him into the tiny bathroom to get ready for bed.

The futon was softer than it seemed, and he had no trouble falling asleep. When he did wake up, it was in a mild state of confusion. It was still very early, the first light of dawn coming through the window, but it was the sounds that troubled him. Giving his head a shake, he sat up and frowned, seeing Sara tossing in her sleep.

Grissom padded across the room, gently sitting on the side of her bed. He hoped the bad dream would pass, but she continued to mutter in her sleep, a limb occasionally thrashing in response to some unseen specter. Hesitantly he reached out, running his hand lightly over her arm. When that didn't appear to help, he started making soft hushing sounds.

Sara eventually jerked up, staring at him in terror until she recognized him.

"Shit, Gil. You scared me."

"I'm sorry. You were having a nightmare," he explained quietly, his concern evident. He hadn't been able to make out anything she'd said, but it was clear that the dream was unpleasant.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you," she said, rubbing her face with her hands as she yawned. "You go ahead and go back to sleep."

"What about you?"

"Insomniac, remember? I must have been tired to sleep this long. I'll go for a run so I won't bother you."

"You're not bothering me," he said softly.

She stared as he wrapped his hand around hers, but she made no move to pull away. She made no move to encourage him, either, so he sat there unsure of what to do next. Giving it a last squeeze, he got up and stretched.

"Want to get some breakfast and catch this creep?" he asked, and she nodded with a grin.

They presented their findings in the morning meeting, and the team broke up into groups to investigate potential locations where the killings may have happened. Sara and Grissom returned to the evidence, eventually finding a small piece of mulch that didn't come from the scene where the body was found. That sent them in the direction of botanical gardens, and on the third day they discovered the garden shed with the bloody floor.

"Thanks for your help," she told him as the took the last of the evidence to the lab. "I don't know how long it would have taken us to catch that guy without your help."

"You're the one who recognized the vital clue," he told her kindly as he settled into the car seat. Her endurance was astounding; he was exhausted, but she seemed ready to start another shift. "You'd have worked it out without my help."

"Right," she chortled. "You're the expert with bugs."

He shrugged casually, but mentally he glowed under her praise. "Well, you can return the favor if I ever need help at a scene with Fermi-Dirac statistics."

"I don't think so, Gil! I'm not sure I want to be anywhere near a crime scene where quantum mechanics come into play."

"Where's your sense of adventure?" he teased. The friendly banter reminded him of his desires, boosting his spirits.

"Firmly under my sense of self-preservation. I'll be happy to deal with the evidence we collected today when I go to work in the morning."

Grissom immediately turned to her, his displeasure clear. "I thought you were scheduled off for tomorrow."

"I am. I haven't maxed out on overtime this month, so I was planning on going in."

"Why?"

"Why not?" she asked with a frown. "There's a lot of evidence that needs processing."

The tip of his tongue appeared as he regarded her. With a friendly tone, he asked, "Do you have any hobbies?"

"Not really."

"You need one," he said in earnest. "It helps to deal with the stress from the job. You can let go of everything you see."

"I'm fine."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, again feeling the ghostly sensation that she wasn't. There had been an edge to her voice, and it propelled his protective urges to the forefront. "But it'll help keep you that way."

"And what do you do for a hobby?" she asked, a hint of challenge in her tone.

"I race cockroaches," he said, nodding at her shocked expression. "And I like roller coasters. Well, who doesn't? But I try to ride as many as possible."

"I've never been on one."

"What!"

She greeted his disbelieving stare with an amused smirk. "What? I'm sure there are a lot of people who haven't ridden roller coasters."

"You're not going to work tomorrow," Grissom stated firmly. "We're going to find an amusement park."

"Gil," she started to complain, but he shook his head.

"I'm not getting paid my usual fee for this trip. You're taking me to an amusement park tomorrow, and you are riding a roller coaster with me."

"Whatever," she said with a laugh.

After dropping off the evidence, they each finished up various tasks at the lab. Hegira stopped by to thank Grissom, insisting on taking him out to dinner. Sara waved him out, telling him she'd finish logging the evidence.

It wasn't until he'd finished the meal that he remembered his luggage was at Sara's place. Two wrong turns later, he eventually found her home and knocked nervously. Jose hadn't come out and said anything directly, but he apparently guessed that his interest in Sara wasn't entirely professional.

It was disconcerting enough that someone figured it out, but what was more startling was Hegira didn't seemed bothered by the revelation. Of course, they didn't work together, so that wasn't an ethical concern. Not that they'd done _anything_ yet to bring them under scrutiny.

He really wanted to change that.

Grissom checked the address again, stretching his aching muscles. He stood there for a long time, wondering if she had decided to work late tonight since he was making her take a day off tomorrow. Her dedication was admirable, but he was beat. His clean clothes and credit cards were in his luggage, and he wanted to sleep. When she opened the door wrapped in only a towel, he swallowed nervously.

"You can come in," she said, calling over her shoulder on her way across the room. "I just told you I was almost finished with my shower – in case you weren't listening."

"I heard you," he lied as he forced his eyes away from her nearly-naked form, unwilling to admit that she'd stunned him.

"There're menus on the fridge. Feel free to order us some dinner. My wallet is in my purse."

He let out a groan once she was out of sight, the image of her very long – and very, very bare – legs in his mind. Grissom looked at the wide range of options available on the fridge, finally picking the menu with the most wear, presuming it was a favorite of hers. Neither of them had bothered to eat much during the case, so he placed a large order.

Sinking onto the futon, he debated packing his suitcase, unsure if Sara intended for him to spend another night. One thing was sure: if she did, he hoped he didn't spend it alone on the futon.

While he waited for her to finish her shower, he leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to figure out where they stood with each other. His curt refusal to show her the lab ages ago probably insulted her, but she didn't seem to hold it against him. They were going out tomorrow for a day of fun. She had invited him to stay in her home, and Grissom knew she also valued her privacy. That had to mean something didn't it?

He really hoped so.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to the smell of coffee, and he groaned as he noticed the afghan pulled over his chest.

"Good morning," Sara's voice called out, and she knelt by his side with a mug of coffee.

"Hi," he said, gladly taking the hot drink. "It's tomorrow, isn't it?"

"No, I'm pretty sure it's today. Which is the day after you fell asleep," she joked lightly. "There's leftovers from last night, or I have some cereal."

"Leftovers are fine," he said, remembering the generous selection he'd ordered the night before. "Sorry about that."

She grinned and waved off his concern, and he sipped his coffee feeling more relaxed than he had in ages. Grissom took a leisurely shower while she reheated the meal, and came out dressed in khakis and a dark blue polo shirt.

He smiled when she gave him an approving nod.

They joked as they ate, Grissom faking outrage at her lack of experience with amusement parks. She listed the local options, and they decided to go to Santa Cruz. As they headed out the door, he slipped his hand into hers, his lips lifting slightly as she tightened her grip.

It was off-season, but there was still a decent-sized crowd at the park. Grissom took her hand again as they entered the facility, using his free hand to point out various attractions. Despite her lack of enthusiasm, he finally dragged her onto a roller coaster, laughing as she held the bar tightly. She responded with muttered calculations about acceleration, impacts and the force needed to break human bones.

With a mysterious grin, he pulled her into the line for one of the other attractions. She rolled her eyes when she saw it was a slow train ride through the park. Joking that it was more her speed, he casually laid his arm on the back of their seat, hoping that he wasn't rushing things.

He nearly choked on his lemonade when she rested her hand on his knee, and the wicked smile she gave him when they got off the ride sent his heart racing.

For the first time in his life, he thought about leaving an amusement park before noon, but Sara insisted on staying longer. He'd have followed her anywhere as long as she kept her inviting look. They treated each other to junk food, watched an animal show, went on other rides and walked hand-in-hand until late afternoon.

The drive back to her place was filled with deliberately casual conversation, but it did little to cover the rising tension in the car. They kept exchanging glances that went from mildly coy to unmistakably smoldering, and their talked died off as their anticipation grew.

Grissom followed her through the front door, and they were immediately embracing. The kisses started quickly, deep and longing as they sought to satisfy long-denied desires. For a brief moment, they both pulled back with questioning looks, grinning when they saw each other's acceptance.

In his many dreams, he'd approached this first time tenderly, slowly and carefully arousing her before indulging himself, but their mutual hunger was too strong to deny. The realization that her passion matched his drove away any remaining doubts he had.

Afterwards, Grissom lay panting on top of Sara, resting most of his weight on his elbows. She ran a lazy hand up and down his back, occasionally running seeking fingers over his rear and down his inner thigh. When he had some control over his breathing, he began to nuzzle her neck, causing her to let out another satisfied moan. Rolling on his side, he slid an arm under her, pulling her close.

She rose up to give him a long kiss, and he smiled when she finally pulled away.

"You have no idea long how long I've wanted to do that," she said.

"Kiss me?" he joked.

"That was part of it, smart ass."

"Was it worth the wait?"

"Eh," she deadpanned, giving him another kiss before resting her head on his chest. "I think I'm entitled to some interest after waiting this long."

"Trust me, you have all my interest."

"Good, 'cause I intend to collect."

His satisfaction went beyond the physical, and he was truly happy for the first time in years. He smiled contently, relishing the feel of her against his body. Her breath tickled his chest, and he reached over to run his fingers through her hair.

After a few moments, though, reality rushed in.

"Sara," he began uneasily. "I have to go back to Vegas soon."

"I know," she said in a low voice. "Let's not worry about that right now. We have tonight."

He lifted his head to try to watch her expression, but she stared towards his belly. Did she think this was just a one-night stand? She didn't sound happy about it, so it wasn't something she wanted.

"Have you checked your mail lately?" he asked, and she pulled back with a confused appearance. "You should have a letter from me."

"I haven't paid much attention to it in the last few days," she said.

"When you find the letter, I asked if you wanted to get together over Thanksgiving."

Her smile lit up her eyes. "You did?"

"I still do," he said, easing her back down and turning so they faced each other. His hand tenderly traced her jaw line. "I wasn't sure if you could get the time off, but I can still come out. We should be able to get a bit of time together."

To his horror, she shook her head vigorously, but her smile saved him from despair. "Thanksgiving is a bitch to travel on. Why don't you come at a different time? Or can't you get another weekend off?"

"I make the schedule."

"That sounds promising," she murmured, slipping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a prolonged kiss.

They eventually stumbled out of bed to fetch their respective calendars, finally finding a few days in early December they both could take off. Grissom tossed his PDA on the bedside table, and then he pulled the covers down on the bed. He reached for Sara's hand, but she pointed in the direction of the bathroom.

"I'm going to get a shower."

"That would be silly."

"Why?" she asked, letting out a surprised huff when he pulled her onto his lap.

"Because you'd just need to take another one," he said, cupping her face with his hands and drawing her forward for a passionate kiss. Partway through, his hands moved down and sought out her breasts, prompting her to rock against him.

"Oh," she said, smiling as she straddled him.

Their second round of lovemaking went a little slower than the first, but both were still eager to take pleasure in each other. Afterwards they laughed as they tried to rinse each other off in the tiny shower stall, both of them banging knees and elbows in the process. Cuddling together on the futon, they teased each other as they ate a makeshift dinner, half-heartedly watching a TV show.

They spent the next day quietly, going for a long walk in the morning. Neither mentioned the future. After lunch in a Chinese restaurant, they went home to make love leisurely. Despite their mutual physical satisfaction, there was an air of melancholy after Grissom received a call from Las Vegas, and he stoically made reservations to return that night while she gathered his things together.

They shared an uneasy dinner at a restaurant near the airport, neither wanting to be the first to say good-bye. They had hugged tightly before leaving the apartment and shared a last, long kiss. Sara went to the airport with him, and he promised to call as soon as he could. That conversation lasted for three hours.

Grissom tried to arrange his schedule to allow as many visits as possible, but each had court appearances, conferences and seminars in addition to their work. He refrained from explaining his sporadic departures from the city, but Catherine started giving him knowing looks that were promptly ignored.

When they did manage to spend a few days together, they made up for the long absences with sheer intensity. They occasionally went out for dinner or a movie, but they were usually content to stay at Sara's apartment. The small space seemed cozy as he drew comfort from her presence.

It wasn't a perfect arrangement, but he tried to convince himself it was better than nothing, certainly better than all the years he spent alone. In truth, it highlighted his emptiness. Before, he only imagined what it was like to have someone to care for, and the weeks without Sara stretched out with excruciating slowness.

They exchanged e-mail messages almost daily and phone calls a few times a week.

Grissom picked up the habit of finding small presents for her, delighting in having someone to surprise. Sara finally told him he didn't have to buy her things, but he insisted that he liked doing it. A week later, a box of his favorite chocolate-covered grasshoppers arrived for him, starting a regular exchange of little gifts between them.

On hearing that Sara was going to a conference in Denver, Grissom signed himself up to attend. This caused questions since the talks were too introductory for someone of his expertise, but he insisted it was always possible to learn something new. Brass complained about the expense, and Catherine silently watched him like a blonde Cheshire cat.

His appearance raised eyebrows among the presenters, and a few of the more observant noticed the discreet attention he paid the young CSI from San Francisco, but no one spoke about it openly. On the last morning as they left his hotel room, they passed one of Grissom's colleagues, and he knew Sara saw him tense when the woman's mouth dropped open.

"I like to keep my private life private," he offered.

"So do I," she said softly, and he had to divert his eyes from her probing gaze. For the rest of the day, they kept a prudent distance, but she gave him quick, encouraging smiles whenever he looked her way. They shared a taxi to the airport, and she assured him that everything was okay. "I don't talk about us."

There was something in her tone that upset him. While Grissom valued his privacy, he hated the way they had to sneak around at conferences, but it was one of the few ways they had of being together. Once back in Las Vegas, he spent several hours carefully picking out a beautiful necklace, enclosing a volume of love sonnets with the gift.

As soon as possible, he took a full week's vacation and headed for San Francisco. Sara was unable to get the time off, but they were both frustrated at how little time they'd been able to share since the Denver trip. She came home as early as she could every day, and he had dinner waiting when she arrived. They usually spent the rest of the day at her home, watching TV or videos between bouts of lovemaking.

It was another seven weeks after that before they could see each other again, and the first time Sara came to see him in Las Vegas. She had never said anything, but he didn't want her to think he was ashamed of their relationship. He stocked up on her favorite beer and wine, and he replaced his bath towels with the softer ones she preferred.

Grissom feared his strep throat put a damper on things, but she insisted he take it easy, making sure he had a supply of medicine and soothing drinks. Cuddling together, they watched television, read and slept, happy just to be seeing each other.

Sara never mentioned seeing the lab.

It wasn't until after she left that he took notice of it, and he felt a twinge of guilt. He also worried that he'd bored her. He had watched his westerns and monster movies, but she usually read a journal article. It took time, but he finally found out she didn't like either genre. It struck him as a bad omen that he didn't know that about her. She'd never complained about his selections, always letting him pick out what they watched.

Now that he thought about it, he realized that he didn't know what type of movie she preferred. In fact, there was little about her that he actually knew.

He was broody when he returned to work, unsatisfied by their arrangements. They didn't get to spend enough time together. He didn't have a chance to learn her preferences, to find out more about her. She occasionally had nightmares, but she still hadn't told him anything about her background. It was starting to worry him on a deeper level.

In the course of an investigation, Grissom and Catherine ended up in a tea shop to talk to the owner. Nothing came from the conversation, but while she went to call O'Riley, he'd asked the clerk to wrap up a decorative tea set that had caught his eye.

"What's your best gunpowder?" he asked.

"Gunpowder? Remind me not to drink tea at your place," Catherine's voice came over his shoulder.

"It's a type of green tea. Whole leaves are rolled into little balls shapes that look like grains of old-fashioned gunpowder," he said, hoping the mundane explanation would satisfy her.

"Since when do you drink green tea?" she asked as the owner brought out a large tin marked special grade Temple of Heaven.

"It's a birthday present."

"Oh," she said, shrugging nonchalantly. He'd nearly relaxed when she added slyly, "I guess Sara's the tea drinker."

"I'll take it," he told the owner, focusing on keeping his hands from shaking. Catherine's inquisitiveness often overstepped her commonsense, but he was still stunned. It was inconceivable that she found out about Sara, and it was frightening to wonder how much she really knew.

"Give me some credit, Gil," Catherine said lightly when he continued to ignore her. "Do you think no one noticed that you were taking time off to go to San Francisco."

"I never told anyone where I went," he said, his curiosity overriding his shock.

"Wasn't hard to figure out," she said vaguely.

"Right."

"Then I remembered how quickly you ran there to help on a case. Figured you were seeing a CSI."

She waited with a patient smile that aggravated him. He paid the owner and headed to the door with his packages.

"Then when I was at the seminar in Chicago, I ran into Dr. Miku, the swing shift supervisor from San Francisco. I asked him if he knew who you were seeing. All he would say is that you're friends with Sara Sidle."

"At least someone understands boundaries," he muttered darkly.

"This isn't a bad thing," Catherine said softly when she sensed his ire. "I'm glad for you, Gil. It shows you're human. You've been a workaholic for too long."

He glared over his glasses as they got in the Tahoe.

"Aren't you going to tell me anything about her?" she prodded.

"And deny you the thrill of snooping for yourself? Let's get back to the lab."

"Your sarcasm needs work," she said, her jovial mood fading as she gave him a sharp look. "You are serious about this, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. I have a meeting with Mobley, and I want to finish my analysis of the water we collected before then."

"You know what I mean. You're shipping her expensive gifts. All those flights to San Francisco add up. That's not the behavior of someone who just wants to get laid," she said, pausing as her head bobbed slightly as if she was having an internal debate. Finally she gave him a doubtful look. "Unless he was really desperate."

Grissom glared at her until she sank back into the seat, holding her hand up in defeat.

_TBC_

* * *

**A/N II: **There was a little bit of smut in this chapter and the next. If there's any interest, I can post those on my website later this week.


	4. Chapter 4

Twist of Fate

**Twist of Fate**

**Summary: **For most people, the threads of life form an unchanging tapestry, with the past setting the pattern for the future. Can Grissom overcome his own doubts when given the chance to weave a new life? GSR, A/U

**A/N:** This is a sequel to "If the Fates Allow", and I strongly suggest reading that story first to understand what's going on. Thanks to Gibby for agreeing to beta this mess, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed. It's greatly appreciated and makes the writing worthwhile.

**Rating: **What's wrong with PG? Why do people always want smut? I don't do good smut. Let's call this a strong PG-13.

**Disclaimer: **Do you really think anyone would trust me with these characters given what I put them through? I only play with them when the mood strikes.

**Chapter 4**

About a year after getting together, they both made plans to attend a conference in New Hampshire. His thrill at seeing her was tempered by the knowledge that something had to change. What they had wasn't enough for him, and the solution was going to be difficult.

He spotted her at the hotel, the chattering young man following her around causing him to raise a questioning eyebrow as he walked toward her.

"Hey, Gil," she said, giving him an eye roll when her attendant spun around quickly, almost sending the plate of food flying in all directions.

"Dr. Grissom! Oh, I've heard so much about you. You're…"

"If you don't mind, I need to talk to Sara for a moment," Grissom interrupted. "In private."

"Oh, sure, uh, yeah, okay."

"Who is that?" he asked as they walked toward a table holding an assortment of cold drinks.

"Randy. Jose's grandson," she said in explanation. "I think I'm supposed to be mentoring him."

Grissom frowned as he watched the younger man clumsily cross the room, nearly colliding with several attendees. "Do they actually trust him with chemicals?"

"Randy's okay. He's just a little overenthusiastic. And a little on the nervous side. I think he's going to end up in the lab. He's not good with dead bodies," she added, picking up a glass of juice.

"I'm in room four-two-one," he whispered. "Think you can shake your escort after dinner?"

"What's wrong with before dinner?" she joked.

"You're the one who said he isn't that bad."

"Then you keep him," she muttered under breath as he bore down on them, offering Sara a plate of appetizers. She grabbed it from his hands before he sent it flying.

They ended up sitting at adjacent tables, and Grissom watched her from the corner of his eyes during the welcoming speeches. As soon as they were over, he greeted a few colleagues, inconspicuously keeping contact with Sara. Making his way toward the exit, he caught her eye and gave his head a slight nod.

He had the covers pulled down and was in his pajamas when she made it to his room. Taking her hand, he led her into the room and slowly kissed her. They had spent the rare times together to good use, having learned what each other liked. Grissom drew on all that knowledge and his self-control to pleasure her.

As they lay cocooned under the comforter, he stroked her face with his fingers, but she sensed something was bothering him.

"Gil?"

"This is too hard," he said slowly, rolling over on his back and resting his forearms over his head. He'd been hesitant to bring the subject up, but they had to deal with it. "It's not working out the way I thought it would."

"I see."

Grissom looked up in surprise when she climbed out of bed, grabbing the robe from the foot of the bed.

"Sara?" She ignored him, and his heart jumped up when her hand reached up to wipe her eyes. "Sara!"

She stopped by the door to the bathroom, but she refused to face him. "Look, if you want to call it off, I understand. I just don't want to talk about it, okay."

"What?" He clambered out of bed, grabbing her elbow before she could close the bathroom door. There was no mistaking the ache and betrayal in her voice, and the unexpected response made him nervous. "Who said anything about ending it?"

"You sure as hell sound like you do."

Her reaction almost made him angry. It wasn't just her tone, but the realization that he had phrased his comment stupidly. "Do you really think that I'd bring you up here for a last roll in the hay if I was going to end this? Do you think that poorly of me?"

He gently forced her around, resting his hands on her shoulders. She eventually shrugged, keeping her eyes focused on the wall behind him until he whispered her name. "It fits my past history with guys."

The pain came through despite her attempts to sound self-deprecating, and that caused him to let out a sad sigh, pulling her into his arms. He didn't need the prodding of some ghost vision to recognize that she'd been hurt too many times in the past. She'd never given a hint of it; did she find it too painful to face or too trivial to mention? He wanted to believe the latter, all the while knowing it was wishful thinking.

"I don't want to end this." His hands rubbed her back soothingly, eventually coaxing her to relax against him. "I thought you knew that. I would have said it differently if I had known," he paused, unsure of what he now knew. Moving his head, he kissed her cheek lovingly.

"What do you want then?" she asked cautiously, her fingers splayed over his chest.

"For us to spend more time together. I _…_ we need to be in the same city."

After watching him for a moment, she led them back to the bed, and they leaned on each other. "Are you asking me to transfer to Las Vegas?"

"No," he said, taking the time to carefully compose his thoughts so as not to cause another misunderstanding. "I'm the night shift supervisor. If you came to work for me, people would assume you were sleeping your way into the job. There'd always be questions about your qualifications and motivations."

"Do you really think I give a damn what people think?"

"I do," he said meaningfully.

"About me or about you?" she asked, firmly but without anger. "If people think I'm sleeping my way into a job, they're going to think you were in on it or were too dumb to notice."

"It affects both of us," he allowed.

Sara let out a long breath as she dropped her head onto the pillow. After a few moments, she asked, "Does the Nevada State Police have a forensics lab in the area?"

"No."

"What other labs are there in Las Vegas?"

"There aren't a lot. I was thinking of going to San Francisco."

Her eyes opened in surprise. "To do what?"

"Work at the crime lab," Grissom said, wondering why she was shaking her head. "I wouldn't be your supervisor, so there'd be no conflict. No one would question the appropriateness of it since neither of us would be in a position of authority over the other."

"Gil, there'd be plenty of conflict. Look, you are a good criminalist. Damn good, and you know it. Do you really think people are going to go to the supervisor with a question when you're there?" Sara asked earnestly. "Do you think you're going to be happy when you disagree with a supervisor and have to follow his direction? People are going to naturally look to you. It's asking for hard feelings."

"It could work," he said, a hint of doubt creeping into his voice.

"No. You'd have to give up your position. You've worked so hard to become supervisor. I don't want you to give that up."

"Do you want to keep this up?" he asked hotly, upset with the situation not her. "Just seeing each other for a day or two a month. If we're lucky."

"No, but I don't want you do anything rash, either," she said gently. "Hell, I'd love to see you every day. I'm happy with you. Don't you understand that?"

"You make me happy," Grissom sighed. "It's the distance that doesn't. I want us to have a future together."

That seemed to stun her for a minute. "I, uh, I can always look for another job in the Vegas area."

The hesitation in her voice was clear, and he rolled over to pull her closer. "And I don't want you to give up your career."

"Let's think about this," she urged. "We don't have to make any decisions this trip. There has to be a way we can get this to work. We're both scientists; we'll figure it out."

He gave a reluctant nod, not explaining the hours he'd already spent trying resolve the situation. She was open to the idea of them being together permanently, and – for right now – that was all that mattered.

They spent as much time together as possible during the conference, sharing meals and sitting near one another during the lectures. In the evenings, they talked briefly about various ways to try to solve their dilemma before drifting off to sleep, but they made little headway.

On the last morning of the conference, he muttered as she insisted he get out of bed.

"Let's stay here," he said suggestively. "Half the people skip out of the last day. No one's going to miss us."

"Gil, you're part of the first panel discussion this morning. I think people are going to notice if you're not there."

"Spoilsport."

"Realist," she said, holding out a hand as she nodded in the direction of the shower. "Besides, you don't want someone coming looking for you."

"I'm not embarrassed to be with you," he said, letting her pull him toward the stall. "It's, I, uh…"

"You like to keep your private life private," she said, giving him a gentle smile. "I understand, and I can live with it."

For a moment, the way she phrased her response made him wonder if she was happy with their arrangement, but those thoughts faded as her robe dropped to the floor. Stepping into the shower with her, Grissom lost himself in her ministrations.

Once back in Las Vegas, he tried to remain optimistic, but no fresh ideas on how to solve their situation came to mind. A new lab tech tried flirting with him, but he ignored Charlotte's overtures as politely as he could. When she suddenly stopped, he wondered if Catherine had had a word with her, unsure of how far she'd go with her incursions into his private life.

If anyone else had intruded into his life like that, he'd have been furious, but Catherine always had the ability to get past his defenses. Probably because she totally ignored them, he decided. But she was a friend, and, more importantly, she understood personal matters and office politics better than he did. Logically, she was the best person he knew to ask for advice, but he kept putting it off.

Earlier in the week, he'd sent an inquiry to a friend about a teaching position. It was in commutable distance from San Francisco, allowed him to be with Sara, and avoided the other problems. If it didn't pan out, or if Sara objected to his leaving forensics, then he'd ask Catherine for advice.

He was still waiting for a response from his friend when Brass left a message for him to come to a meeting, and the vague wording piqued his curiosity.

Brass had been a good cop before being promoted to head up the lab. Unfortunately, he was one of those people who didn't handle ambition well. He now had thoughts of running for political office, the allure of the financial benefits from those contacts too tempting to resist. It turned him from a decent man to a bit of a megalomaniac, and Grissom never knew what to expect from their meetings.

"What's this I hear about you wanting to leave the lab?" Brass demanded without preamble.

"I don't know how you heard anything on the subject," he began evasively, silently cursing blondes with no understanding of privacy. She'd been asking him a lot of questions lately, leaving him to believe that she suspected his plans.

"Yeah, like leaving a copy of your resume on the printer while you bolted out for a case wasn't a clue."

"It wasn't," Grissom said, mentally berating himself for leaving a printout behind. He'd been in a hurry and hadn't counted all the copies, but that mistake was stupid. "There's nothing unusual about keeping a CV up-to-date."

Brass shrugged and smiled; there was nothing humorous about it. "Yeah, you academic types always keep all your articles and stuff updated. Except you haven't written anything in ages."

"I've put it off for too long. It needed doing."

"Right, like I'm supposed to fall for that. Do you really think I'm dumb, Gil?"

"Honestly?"

"Let's cut the bullshit. Are you looking for more money? Some fancy title?"

"If you have to ask that, you really don't know me," Grissom said calmly.

"Then what's the game? Is this about that piece you're doing in San Francisco?" Sensing he'd gone too far, Brass waved off the start of his protest. "Is it this Sidle chick?"

"What business is it of yours?"

"Because Jose Hegira says she's damned good. That she rarely takes off. I didn't ask, but I bet those days match up with the days you disappear."

"And if they do?" he said with a deadly calm.

"Then you're a stupid ass!" he exclaimed, sighing when Grissom frowned. "We had an opening here. I just hired a kid from the academy. If you two wanted to be together, I'd have hired her to keep you here."

Grissom tilted his head in bafflement. The conversation wasn't going as he always feared it would. "But I'm night shift supervisor."

"So? Do you think you're the first person in the lab's history who got interested in a co-worker? We'd have gotten Catherine or Conrad to do her evaluations. We could have worked something out."

Grissom rubbed his chin wearily; he had really wanted to keep his relationship private, but that seemed a lost cause. People might talk if Sara came to the lab, but they were going to do that anyway now. This was probably the best solution they were going to find – if it wasn't too late.

"Could have?" he asked guardedly.

"I already filled the position. Look, do you think she's interested in coming to work here or not?"

"Yes."

"Then tell her to send in a resume. I don't know when there'll be another vacancy, but let's get her lined up for it. I can't guarantee that it'll be on the same shift, but maybe she can trade with someone later," Brass said, regarding him carefully for a minute. "Is she really as good as Hegira said she is?"

"Yes."

"I bet."

Scowling, Grissom stared at him levelly. "She graduated with honors from Harvard and Berkeley with degrees in physics. She's one of the smartest people I know and a natural at forensics."

"All right, all right. I shoulda known you'd go for another egghead."

He left the office with mixed emotions, but he was eager to contact Sara. If he was right, this was the solution she'd wanted all along. There was going to be comments if she came, but he knew she was an excellent criminalist. It wouldn't take long for others to recognize her talents.

And, if they didn't, he and Sara could always go to another lab together.

"Gil!"

Catherine approached him apologetically, pulling him into an empty office quickly. "I didn't go to Brass. He came to me. He was furious, thinking you were going to pull a ghost and vanish from the lab. I hinted you were seeing someone, and if you were leaving, that was why. He wanted to know why she didn't come here, and I didn't have anything to tell him. He dug up the rest of the information himself."

He regarded her for a moment, part of his mind amazed at how she said it all in one breath. She seemed genuinely contrite, and he shrugged in response.

"Did he offer her a job?" she asked. "You had to know the lab would do just about anything to keep you here."

"There's nothing available. He's already filled the position that was open."

"What about the next one?"

"I'll see if she's interested," he answered noncommittally.

"What? Oh, I get it," she said, giving him a patronizing smile. "It's because you're the supervisor. Oh, don't give me that look. I know you."

"Maybe not as well as you think."

"You're a total geek, but you have a long streak of gentleman running though you," she said, ignoring him. "You don't want people getting the wrong idea about her."

He gave his head a brief nod, knowing she wasn't going to let him go without some sort of admission.

"And you don't want people thinking that you _…_" she said, smiling again at his warning glare. "People are going to be happy, Gil. You've been alone too long. People like Ecklie would just find something else to rag you about. Don't let them get in the way of being happy."

Grissom gave her a parting stare, but he had to concede her point. In his experience, people who were going to gossip maliciously always found something to talk about, often resorting to making things up. Still, he saw no reason to give them extra ammunition.

He called Sara the next afternoon, calmly explaining everything. He worried that she'd be upset that his hesitance had cost her the opening, but her response was unexpected.

"Are you okay with this, babe? I know you didn't want people to know about us," she asked softly.

Sinking into his couch, he let out a sigh. Sara was kind and accommodating, but when she put it that way, he felt like a coward. Although he hadn't bragged about his prior dates, he never kept them a secret from the lab. The difference was those were just dates. He'd been unhappy when those prior attempts at relationships failed, but nothing that threatened the walls he'd built around him.

Sara was special. Losing her would rip him apart, leaving his soul in tatters. But he knew something had to be done to make sure they stayed together.

Was he really afraid that people would think a ladder-climbing opportunist had used him? Was he willing to risk their future over it? He knew the truth, and anyone who refused to acknowledge it was a fool.

She was the woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. A day here and a weekend there wasn't enough. If there was no way to do it in complete privacy, then he wanted to do it the best way possible. His friends would accept her, and the inevitable teasing would be good-natured.

"I'm fine with it," Grissom asserted truthfully. To assuage any lingering doubts she had, he picked up his calendar. "I'm pretty busy the next couple of weeks, but why don't you come for another visit? You can visit the lab and see if it's somewhere you'd like to work."

"Are you serious?"

"Very."

They made plans for her to come out the next week, and Grissom swallowed nervously once he was off the phone. He'd committed to the course of action, but the openness went against his grain. Not wanting Sara to get the wrong idea, he went ahead and told Catherine and Brass that she was coming for a visit. The whispering murmurs when he passed labs irritated him, but he didn't want her to walk into the lab and find no one knew anything about her.

His caseload was heavy the week of her visit, with a series of corporate break-ins where the perpetrator left behind pieces of pages torn out from books. Grissom didn't recognize any of it, and finally he had to call the university library for assistance in identifying the texts.

He'd sent Sara a key to his townhouse, telling her that he'd be unable to meet her at the airport. She was going to meet him later, but he did a double-take when he spied her through the glass walls of the lab, heading down the hallway toward Catherine and Nick. Grissom started moving to intercept her.

"I don't know, Cath," he heard Nick say. "Do you really think this guy had Einstein's Noble Prize for his theory of relativity?"

"It's a fake," Sara said, smiling as she approached them, an expandable folder under her arm. "Can you tell me where Dr. Grissom's office is?"

"Why do you think it's a fake?" Nick asked with a charming smile, and Catherine repeated his question in a more direct manner.

"Well, first off, Einstein didn't have _a_ theory of relativity. He developed the theories of general relativity and special relativity. And he didn't win the Nobel Prize for either. He won it for his work on the photoelectric effect."

"You're sure about that?" Nick asked.

"Check out the awards for nineteen-twenty-one."

"I told you this guy was yanking our chain. I'll go tell O'Reilly," Nick said after punching the air.

"I guess you're the researcher from the university." Catherine said. "Grissom's busy. I'll take those notes for you."

"Uh, no, I'm not," she said, suddenly smiling as Grissom rounded the corner. "Hi."

"Hey, Sara."

His response had been soft, but the silence seemed to spread out in widening circles. Nick spun around on his heels, staring at Sara with his mouth agape, and Catherine was nearly sputtering. Techs began to stick their heads out of their labs to stare.

"Let's go to my office," he said, feeling the heat climb up his cheeks.

"What, exactly, did you tell people about me?" she asked in amusement once in the relative privacy of his office.

"That you were coming for a visit. That you were a CSI from San Francisco."

Apparently, no one in the lab thought he'd be dating someone so much younger, and it didn't help his nerves any. She smirked softly, but she didn't tease him about the age differences. It had been a minor source of concern for him, and her gentle reassurances always left him grateful.

"Oh, this is for you," she said, passing over the folder.

"What is it?" he asked curiously.

"You wanted my comments on that paper you wrote about our bug case from San Francisco. I got the photos you wanted, too."

"Already? Don't you ever sleep?"

"When you're around," she said salaciously.

He peered over the top of his glasses, but he didn't smile.

"It's nothing for you to worry about," she said.

"I'm concerned," he said, dropping his head to scan her notes. He didn't want to make an issue of it, but he'd always been bothered by the fact she never mentioned her past. The occasional nightmares and constant insomnia added to his growing fears. Seeing her look, he shrugged. "You're early."

"I was able to catch an earlier flight, figured there'd be less traffic this early in the morning. So, who's this university researcher you're seeing?"

The attempt to change the topic wasn't smooth, but he didn't resist. Settling back in his chair, they talked about the case until Catherine walked in with another folder.

"The library sent this over. They've identified about a third of them so far," she said, pausing to look Sara over.

"Catherine Willows, this is Sara Sidle. She's visiting me from San Francisco. I think you already snooped out some information about that."

"Not all of it apparently," she said, offering her hand for a handshake. "Nick and I are on our way to deal with Mr. False Police Report, and I'm heading home afterwards unless you need me for anything around here."

"Go ahead, Catherine."

"Nice to meet you," Sara called out. She turned back to Grissom with a grin. "I don't think I'm what she expected."

"I don't know why. I'm surprised she didn't have your birth certificate and family history," he joked, but stopping when he saw a flicker of apprehension in her eyes. "Do you want to see part of the lab before breakfast?"

"Sure!"

He escorted her down the hallway, ignoring the stares from the braver lab techs and showing her the latest in forensic equipment. They were outside the DNA lab when his pager sounded, and she waved him off. "I won't break anything."

"That's Greg Sanders. I don't think he bites," he said as he pulled out his cell phone.

"You are not Sara Sidle," he said, holding out his hand.

"I'm not? I think she's going to be really pissed that I've been wearing her underwear all these years."

"Get out of here!"

Smiling, she shrugged and made a move to head toward the door. "If you insist."

"No! Come back here. Tell me everything," he said, ducking his head at Grissom's scowl.

"Everything? Wow, that's going to take some time," she said slowly, indulging his encouraging nods. "Let's see. 'In the beginning, there was darkness and void.'"

"You can fast forward it a bit."

"Okay. And then I met you."

"Not that far!" he half-whined, winking at her when Grissom came back into the room. "Like, how did you two meet?"

"It was at a conference, Greg," he answered impatiently. "Do you have any evidence to work on, or is your position redundant? The sheriff is always looking for ways to cut the lab budget."

"Just being friendly," he said, leaning forward to whisper to Sara. "Everyone thought you'd be a total geek. We weren't expecting Grissom would get lucky enough to bag someone so hot."

"I am a geek," she said with an amused smirk. "And I always considered myself the lucky one."

After finishing the tour and grabbing some breakfast, they retired to his townhouse and bed. She returned with him to the lab that night, and he stoically sat through the gentle teasing from Warrick and Nick during the group breakfast the next morning. Sara left to be grilled by Brass and Mobley, and Grissom stayed behind to work with the new girl, Holly Gribbs.

She was a novice, and the autopsy bothered her, but he had high hopes for her. There had been a moment of foreboding, but he sent her to a simple crime scene with Warrick, confident that everything would be fine.

He was deadly wrong.

Holly's shooting and subsequent death shocked the entire team. Brass was demoted, and Grissom needed someone to handle the investigation, and he didn't hesitate to ask Sara to handle it. They talked briefly about conflict of interest, but he assured her that he trusted her to tell him the truth, no matter how painful it might be.

The investigation stalled her blooming friendships among the team, especially with Catherine who took the entire thing as a personal affront. To his relief, Sara easily cut through the emotional baggage and office politics to conclude her investigation.

Trouble didn't arrive until the aftermath.

"You didn't fire Warrick." It wasn't a statement, and he knew she was angry as soon as he put his briefcase down. She was pacing his living room, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"I didn't see the point," he began, but she spun on him quickly.

"He left a rookie at a crime scene so he could place a bet, and she died. What other point is there?"

"Sara," he said, carefully picking his words to avoid an argument. "I know him better than you do. He made a mistake, and he's already paying for it."

"Tell that to Holly Gribb's parents. I don't think they'd agree with you. I sure as hell don't."

"I know. It's complicated."

"You know, people always say that when they don't want to face the truth," she said angrily. "I didn't expect that bullshit from you."

"It's not bullshit," he said calmly. "Gambling is an addiction."

"Spare me the platitudes. You want to talk about addiction? Let's talk about smoking. It's supposed to be pretty damn addictive, but I quit as soon as I realized it bothered you."

"You had the willpower to do it, and I'm glad you did."

"Willpower? You make it sound like some sort of magical gift. It's not, Gil. I made up my mind that keeping you happy was more important than smoking. That's it. Warrick thinks gambling is more important than following protocol, and he got Holly killed."

Sinking into a chair, he let out a long huff of air. He'd expected her to take the news badly, but this was worse than he imagined. Watching her continue to pace, his face contorted as the hidden fears and clues starting coalescing in his mind.

When she turned to face him, the hurt in her eyes engraved into his soul. "I thought you trusted me."

"I do."

She began pacing the room again. "But not enough to listen to what I had to say."

"I listened, Sara. I didn't agree." Grissom got up and moved to stand in her path, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. "I knew you'd tell me the truth, and you did. It wasn't pleasant to hear, and I don't think it was easy for you to tell me. But you did, and I appreciate it."

She glared at him for a moment before dropping her head in a disgusted shake. "He's an addict, Gil. That's not going to go away because you want it to. This isn't a disease like a cold; it's a flaw. What is his next mistake going to be?"

"We all make mistakes."

"Really? I don't remember getting someone killed before. Have you?"

He pursed his lips, wanting to defuse the situation. She was upset, and he didn't blame her, but he didn't want this to escalate into something they'd both regret.

"If you want to be technical about it, yes, I have," he said, waiting until she turned to him apprehensively. "I was the one who decided Warrick would be a good person to monitor Holly's progress. That was a mistake I made."

"Don't," she warned, pulling away to stalk into the kitchen. "That was his responsibility, his mistake. How can you not understand this?"

"Honey," he started, but she didn't appear to hear him, her words continuing harsh and fast.

"How many times on the job have you seen the damage caused by someone just like him? Kids who get abused because their parents can't control themselves. Husbands who beat the shit out of their wives, and wives who let it happen because they won't take control of their on life."

"My God, Sara," he whispered. She'd given no indication that she was speaking from personal experience, but he knew it, as surely as he knew they'd eventually get together. All the clues he suspected over the years came together, and he hated himself for not putting it together earlier.

Years of experience gave him the ability to imagine what her life must have been like, and it sickened him. How young was she when she had to take control of her life just to survive? And she'd done more than survive; she'd made something of her life, and he knew the statistics on how many abused children overcame their background. It spoke of her ability and fortitude, the strength to make difficult decisions. No wonder this bothered her so much.

He tried to broach the subject, but she stepped out of his embrace when she saw the compassion in his eyes. Following her across the room, he kept a respectable distance, but he saw her struggling to rein in her temper.

"Sara, I do agree with you," he said, trying another tactic. "Did you know Warrick offered to quit after I told him his job was safe? Do you want to know why? Because he was afraid it would cause trouble between you and me, and he didn't want to be the source of it. He's a good man. This was a big mistake, he knows it, and he's going to live with this for the rest of his life."

"At least he has a life to feel it in," she said with a long sigh. "She was too young, Gil, and there was no excuse for what happened to her."

"I know," he said, inching forward to pull her into an embrace. She allowed it, but her posture was stiff. "I put you in a bad spot, and I'm sorry for that. Your investigation was excellent, and I do appreciate it. But I can't agree with your recommendation. I lost one good CSI already. I can't toss another one out the door."

"Even if he is to blame?"

"Yes," he said softly, not breaking eye contact when she turned to him. "I'll be keeping a closer watch on Warrick after this. I promise you that. I'm going to make sure he does something about his gambling problem. The lab has counselors for that type of thing. I'll give him another chance, but I'm not forgetting what he did."

"It's your decision," she finally said, and he felt her trying to relax. Her efforts weren't too successful. "I'm not the one that has to live with it."

He nodded sagely as she went to make coffee. Quietly, he started dinner, drawing some hope when she set a mug by his side and helped him. They didn't talk, and he let her work out the issue internally.

After dinner, he led her to the sofa, gently pulling her into his embrace. "I'm sorry I asked you do to this. I didn't consider the consequences. It wasn't fair to put you in a position where you'd be left questioning my decisions."

"Are you saying that you'd have fired Warrick if someone else recommend it?"

"Of course not."

"Then it doesn't matter if I'm the one who gave it or not. I'd still disagree with you about your decision," she said, but there was more sadness than anger in her tone. "It's something we're never going to see eye-to-eye on. Let's just drop it."

"I'm not sure that's the best idea," he said. "I don't want this to be a problem between us."

"It's not," she said, giving him a shrug when he looked at her questioningly. "Not in the long term, anyway. Right now, I'm a bit pissed, but you know I have a temper. And it hasn't scared you away yet."

She was still upset, and he knew she'd want more time to deal with this, but he was too concerned to ignore her background any longer. He took a deep breath, reaching out to hold her hand firmly. "A lot of things seem to make you angry, Sara. Why?"

"Gil, don't go there."

"No," he insisted, slowly pulling back to stroke her face. "You never talk about it. That makes me think it's something that we shouldn't ignore."

"Not tonight. Please, just let it go."

The pleading in her tone cut into him, and he shifted his position to draw her into his lap. Rolling her eyes, she let him direct her head against his neck, eventually starting to relax in his embrace. They stayed huddled together for a long time, drawing comfort from one another and slowly the tension from the past days' events and their argument started draining away.

Grissom was the first to break the silence, speaking as he rubbed her back gently. "I don't know if this is a good time to mention it, but there's an opening at the lab again. Mobley wants you to know the job is yours."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I didn't know if you were still interested," he said, wrapping a protective arm around her. "I had a hunch you weren't going to be happy when I let Warrick keep his job."

"Not enough to throw this away," she said, shifting so she could watch his eyes. "What about you? You've taken over the job from Brass. You're in a position to lose even more now."

"I'd like for us to work together. Catherine can write your reviews," he said, pausing as an unsettling thought came over him. She'd been especially upset with Sara's investigation, and he wasn't sure she'd be able to be impartial. "Or Ecklie. I'm thinking about you, though."

"What about me?"

He paused, unsure of what he felt. The threads of distant memories tugged at his mind. "You had to investigate one of the team. You're involved with the supervisor. It might not be easy for people to accept you for who you are."

"I told you before that I don't care what people think about me," she said, snuggling against him. "If you want me here, I'll send my notice to San Francisco and start looking for an apartment."

"Why?"

"Because it's a little too far to commute," she said, giving him a puzzled look.

"You don't need a place of your own. You can move in with me."

Sara's jaw dropped, and she gave her head a shake. "I don't think that's a good idea, Gil. We've only seen each other in short spurts. You might not want to live with me once you deal with my temper on a regular basis."

"Sara, your temper doesn't bother me. I want us to get married," he said, stopping when he realized what he'd confessed. It was true, something he had secretly dreamed about, but it wasn't something he meant to so casually toss out. Suddenly he felt exposed and waited for the rejection.

"Oh. I, uhm. Well. I think, uh. Wow. I think we shouldn't rush into things," she finally managed, but she pulled back when he tensed. "I'm not saying no, Gil. I'm just not ready yet to say yes. Is that okay?"

"It's more than okay." A slow smile formed as he drew her back against his chest. If she needed more time, he'd wait. They had all the time in the world. "We're going to make this work. I know it."

_**Finis**_


End file.
